


To Fight For Freedom

by Snowy38



Category: Harry Styles - Fandom, Larry Stylinson - Fandom, Louis Tomlinson - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bodyguard!Louis, Breaking The Rules, Falling In Love, Family Issues, Fear, Femininity, Fluff, Forbidden Love, Happy Ending, Hate to Love, Homophobia, Kilt!Harry, Laird - Freeform, M/M, Montgomery Clan, Nature, Scottish!Harry, Smut, cross-dressing, mild violence, outdoors, threat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-08-09 01:27:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 61,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16440458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowy38/pseuds/Snowy38
Summary: It was snowing when he went down.His sturdy and well-worn hiking boots were tied snugly to his socked feet; the knee-high thick black fabric keeping his legs warm to almost the point his pleated kilt rested just above his knees. Almost, because there was still a good four inches of skin bared to the elements.His father had told him he had no need to wear the traditional uniform, but Harry knew better than to believe him. In fact, the only reason his father would say such a thing was because he would rather see him in anything other than an item of clothing which resembled a skirt. The reasons for his reservations may well be justified but Harry couldn’t think about that right now.It was snowing and he’d been shot.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi All
> 
> Credit to:  
> Sara, co-writer  
> Shauna, Sam, Jaymi-Leigh- editing  
> CinnamonCurly- concept
> 
> WARNING: If reading conversations in an accent is one of your pet-hates, please do not read this. The Scottish characters are all written in (as accurate as possible) Scottish diction to give the story the right feel, please do not read and then be negative about it.
> 
> I research my stories but as usual, not everything is on point!  
> Enjoy
> 
> Ang

 

“Harold, for goodness, sake!” Anne Styles knocked sharply on the bedroom door and swooshed in with all the pomp of a woman dressed in heavy silks and high heeled shoes.

 

Harry rolled in the bed; his long hair a messy cloud underneath him as he stretched and yawned.

 

“What is it?” He asked softly; squinting one eye towards his mother as she brought herself up beside the bed. The sun was venturing through a gap in his curtains; setting the tips of his curled lashes alight.

 

 “Your attendance is required at breakfast,” she arched her fine dark brow. “You might remember your father inviting you last night?”

 

Harry frowned, feigning lost memory.

 

“I cannae recall,” he smirked slowly.

 

Anne tutted and reached across to rip away the bedsheets.

 

“Hey!” He moved to grasp the warm covers back and frowned as he failed to reach them in time before they landed in a heavy heap on the floor.

 

“Downstairs,” Anne commented. “Now.”

 

Harry wasn’t one to disobey his mother’s instructions when she was in that mood; so, he pulled on a thick brown knitted cardigan with leather patches on the elbows and belted it over his grey tee-shirt and pink pyjama pants; tiny sheep printed across the fabric.

 

He lifted his arm to shove his fingers into the front of his hair as he walked into the dining room; jolting with a confused pout when he found it empty.

 

“Sir, breakfast is served in the conservatory this morning,” the butler, Liam, announced gently behind him.

 

“Oh,” he turned to re-route himself, walking up to Liam who was positioned in the doorway. He paused, lifting a brow. “Aye , Liam?”

 

“Wouldn’t you rather um…,” Liam’s eyes flicked over him assessingly; meeting his gaze with a panicked stare. “Would Sir not wish to dress for breakfast with our guest?” He managed to push out of his throat.

 

Harry laughed throatily, tilting his head back to shake out his tangled hair.

                                                   

“Nay, I feel rather comfortable,” he dismissed Liam’s concern and brushed by him to head for the conservatory.

 

//

 

His father was the first to unseat himself; shooting up out of his chair with an indignant huff.

 

“Good gracious, Harold, are we to believe that all the riches in Scotland couldnae afford ye proper attire to wear to breakfast?” Desmond enquired bemusedly.

 

Harry’s eyes flicked around the table. His mother remained seated; teaspoon poised delicately upon the edge of her cup. In her favour, she was coping with his brattishness perfectly; a sweet- if strained- smile gracing her lips.

 

“I’m sure our guest will understand that Harry is still recovering from the shock of his near-death experience,” Anne suggested, sliding her eyes to her left where a third person sat. A _small_ person.

 

“Very well,” Desmond acquiesced; albeit reluctantly as Harry’s gaze drifted over their visitor.

 

He looked to be around twenty-eight years old; eyes the colour of a cloudy blue pool and hair the colour of conkers. His lips twisted wryly, pink and if Harry wasn’t mistaken…entirely kissable. His bone structure was impossible to define in words, so he didn’t try; he just let his eyes wander his defined jaw and sharp cheeks leisurely; a glimmer stirring in his sleepy green irises for the first time that day.

 

“Well, good mornin’,” he drawled in his smoothest, deepest voice. “I dunnea believe we’ve had the pleasure of havin’ met…”

 

Harry’s eyes flicked to his father as Desmond stiffened perceptibly at Harry’s somewhat flirtatious greeting.

 

“You can pack that in right now, laddie,” his father warned. “This is Mr. Tomlinson and he is here on business, not pleasure,” he accused dryly

 

Harry lifted his brows in mild curiosity; his tongue tracing his lower lip.

 

“You’ll have to forgive my state of undress,” Harry said, tearing his gaze from his father and resting it back against the newcomer; noting that Tomlinson had risen from his seat to greet him formally with a handshake.

 

Harry loped over to seal the greeting; long fingers clinging to smaller; smooth ones for a second too long.

 

“Well aren’t ye a pretty wee thing,” he murmured with a burr in his throat. “What brings ye to this cauld , barren land?” He enquired with a swallow.

 

He felt something fizzle in his belly as Tomlinson’s gaze dipped to watch the journey of his Adam’s apple.

 

“Actually-“

 

“Sit down, Harry,” Anne scolded him quietly; resting her teaspoon in the saucer her cup sat daintily in.

 

Harry flicked his eyes to his mother.

 

“He’s here to save your life, you may as well stop flirting with him,” she mused drily.

 

Harry didn’t know which piece of information to go with first.

 

“He-“

 

“Yes, darling,” Anne twisted in her seat to address him properly. “We’ve hired you a bodyguard. You may as well have some tea while we go through the details,” she added quietly.

 

Harry opened his mouth. His brows furrowed marginally before he closed it; eyes flicking back to the imposter. His own hair (he assumed) was a flyaway mess of tangled curls around his head and he’d thought _he_ was the one pulling the punches here. Apparently not.

 

“You’re...?” He asked, without asking.

 

Tomlinson nodded only once; swallowing when Harry’s eyes narrowed in belated realisation.

 

“Wow,” he huffed, rocking back on his feet far enough to take a step away. “You’re serious,” he added as he blinked away his bemusement.

 

In some kind of petty reminder as to why he needed protecting at all, his rough-skinned palm lifted to rest over his bullet-wound; still padded and bandaged tightly to keep it clean, barely traceable under his cardigan sleeve. Something in his chest felt tight as he tried to take in air; to make sense of what was happening around him.

 

“I dunnae need a bodyguard,” was all he managed to express before he turned and walked steadily from the room; his pink pyjamas suddenly feeling ridiculously stupid.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who commented and left kudos already!  
> It's very nerve-wracking posting new material, every time I write something I worry about it so much XD  
> Loving Harry's growing hair :)
> 
> Ang

_It was snowing when he went down._

_His sturdy and well-worn hiking boots were tied snugly to his socked feet; the knee-high thick black fabric keeping his legs warm to almost the point his pleated kilt rested just above his knees. Almost, because there was still a good four inches of skin bared to the elements._

_His father had told him he had no need to wear the traditional uniform, but Harry knew better than to believe him. In fact, the only reason his father would say such a thing was because he would rather see him in anything other than an item of clothing which resembled a skirt._

_The reasons for his reservations may well be justified but Harry couldn’t think about that right now._

_It was snowing and he’d been shot._

_His long; deceptively gentle fingers tightened around his bicep; blood seeping slowly into his thermal top and no doubt his favourite jumper too, by now. It felt warm and wet underneath his thick, suede tan jacket; another item of clothing his father abhorred._

_Harry would have smirked if he wasn’t wincing against the pain; his ears roaring as adrenaline kicked in, powering him enough to scrabble into a seated position; bared legs cushioned in the inch or so of snow beneath him._

_Trust something like this to happen when he decided to climb The Spike. It was the largest peak on the outskirts of the grounds to Montgomery Castle and he should know better than to scale it without his fitness leggings and amid snow-fall._

_“Hey’ere!” he called out. “Anybody out there?”_

_He drew his knees carefully toward his body; rolling onto his side to gain traction to lever himself up with his bad elbow; not wanting to let go of his wound for fear it would bleed out too fast to see him down the mountain before he lost consciousness._

_“Which bastard wants me dead?” He muttered to himself, brows furrowing as he launched himself upwards; staggering in the frozen crunch beneath his feet until his balance settled. His ears went on alert; listening sharply for any movement around him. He’d hunted deer up here, he was used to being quiet. He was used to stealth-stalking his prey._

_He wasn’t used to being shot at in the wilderness as though he himself was being tracked for the glory of his head over someone’s fireplace. He tempered his breath; lungs stinging with the force of being restricted; his asthma having reared its ugly head only that very morning while he was pulling on his warmest socks and thickest jumper for his trek._

_He’d needed to see the world from up high; he’d told his mother. He’d needed space._

_His parents had told him that the time had come to hand over the estate; to instigate the proceedings which would officially rank him as The Much Honoured Harry Styles of Montgomery; or in simple terms, Laird of the land.  Lairdship didn’t mean much these days, but Harry didn’t know how to feel about it. He’d spent the last six years assuming he’d be written out of every Will_   _and carefully erased from the Styles’ family tree; his Uncle Stephen or even his nephew Christopher likely taking his rightful inheritance._

_He had almost banked on it._

_And then his father had told him he was forgiven for his misdemeanours. Pardoned for his mistakes and his slate wiped clean. And so, the expectation to comply with his father's wishes had returned with a sudden thump of fear that had left Harry winded (not related to his asthma). He didn’t know how to feel about it, truth be told. He didn’t know that he wanted to take the title; the over-bearing pressure of being watched._

_He’d somewhat enjoyed the years in the shameful shadow he’d created for himself, living his life peacefully out of doors; immersing himself in working on the grounds of the Castle. He liked being invisible, almost; unseen to all the world except for the three peaks surrounding them and the walls of the castle._

_Right now, though, it was evident that he wasn’t as protected as he’d like to believe. Right now, someone had deliberately taken a shot; not to kill him but instead to frighten him and warn him of impending danger. Someone had just threatened his very existence._

_As his green eyes widened to search the land around himself astutely; his heart tripped over in his chest. That someone may have just achieved what they were out to achieve. He **was** frightened. And he hated it._

 

//

 

 

“Ye cannae avoid us forever…”

 

Desmond’s voice drifted into Harry’s consciousness as he slipped down the grand stairs and headed down the hall towards the kitchen.

 

Liam had offered several times to fetch his dinner and subsequently begged to have something made specially to suit his waned appetite.

 

“You’re still on the mend, young Sir,” the young man had gently reminded him. “You need to keep your strength up.”

 

Harry had refused any offer of food but in reality; he was starving. He hadn’t left his room all day; sulking in the comfort of his grand four post bed until the coast was clear. In the morning he could sneak out at dawn before the rest of the house awoke and he would be on the hills before anyone suspected.

 

 _Within_ the Castle grounds, that was.

 

He had not expected another night visitor in the hall. He turned slowly; hand lifting to squeeze the hair he had mounded into a bun.

 

“I’m not avoiding ye,” he lied outrageously. He was getting good at it.

 

Even Des smirked.

 

“Aye, ye are,” he challenged.

 

Harry glanced down at his bare feet; soft sweatpants now replacing his pyjamas and his favourite sweater hanging misshapen over his torso. His fingertips found the hole in it from the gunshot; the tips brushing over his bandage comfortingly.

 

“Alright, maybe I am,” he conceded.

 

Des watched him thoughtfully.

 

“Ye do realise the gravity of the situation,” he stated more than asked.

 

Harry’s lashes flicked up; his olive eyes focusing on his father.

 

“Aye, I do,” he promised softly; that strange feeling back in his chest; restricting his air.

 

“Then ye understand why we had to hire security,” Des added.

 

Harry pursed his lips and made his way towards the kitchen, opening the high cupboard to lift down a bowl. Underneath the counter he opened another door and crouched down to dig around at the back of it; wrestling out a cardboard box.

 

“Why do ye eat that crap when we have the finest Scottish ingredients and the finest chef to cook them?” His dad reprimanded him with a sigh.

 

Harry poured out the Co -Co pops with a wan smile.

 

“I do it just to annoy ye,” he quipped.

 

His father pursed his lips; rueful eyes meeting Harry’s.

 

“We would never forgive ourselves if ye were hurt again,” he conveyed softly.

 

“That doesnae mean you can hire folk to follow me around without askin’,” he finally expressed his real annoyance.

 

“Louis isnae just here to follow ye around-“

 

“Lewis?” Harry repeated, with a thick hiss on the silent ‘s’. “Is that his name? I thought _imposter_ suited him better myself…”

 

He lifted his spoon to take a large mouthful of his cereal, crunching it loudly between his teeth as his father’s gaze swept over Harry’s shoulder and paused in the corner of the room.

 

“Ah, Mr. Tomlinson,” Des rose from his seat to move towards him. “Returned from your preliminary assessment, I presume?”

 

Harry steadfastly refused to turn around. He refused to _look_. He wasn’t having any part in any of his parent’s hair-brained schemes to-

 

“I’ve secured the windows and doors for the night, Mr. Styles,” he heard Louis say and rolled his eyes at his graciousness. Could the guy get any further  up his father’s ass? Probably not without it becoming sordid.

 

“And how did you find the guest room?” Des continued while Harry lifted another spoon full of cereal, the milk dripping into the bowl with a loud splash as he slurped up the mixture.

 

The room went quiet for a pause; making Harry smirk to himself.

 

“It’s more than adequate,” Louis assured Des.

 

Harry did turn around then, chomping his cereal with a disinterested glance at the newcomer.

 

“Right next door to me, Lewis,” he said through his cereal. “Cannae wait.”

 

Louis flicked his blue eyes across towards Harry; Harry smiling frog-like with the remaining cereal between his cheeks. He waited patiently for Louis to take the bait; to correct his pronunciation of his name and lose a little of the cool he appeared to possess. Harry thought it was frankly impossible for anyone to have the kind of control a bodyguard pretended to have. Everyone had a chink in their armour and it was just a matter of time before Harry found his.

 

In the mean-time, he’d enjoy the process of testing his limits.

 

//

 

“Have you seen Mr. Styles?”

 

Liam froze mid-step into the yard, Louis advancing with a panicked glare; a walkie-talkie clipped to his suit jacket and a holster subtly strapped underneath it; nestling a pistol by his ribs.

 

“Uh, I think he—um, he likes to go for walks up there,” Liam pointed towards the trio of mountains tucked in behind the Castle.

 

“That’s where the shooter was,” Louis frowned. “Why on earth would he go back there?“

 

Liam flicked his eyes away from Louis’ intent stare, clearing his throat and fidgeting on his feet.

 

Louis blinked at him coolly. “Is there something you’re not telling me, Payne?”

 

Liam opened his mouth to reply only to be interrupted by the steady crisp thud of booted feet against pebbled path. Louis twisted in time to watch Harry lift a hand in a salute; a victorious grin on his lips and;

 

“Mornin’ my wee beauties,” Harry greeted. “Hope ah’m not too late for brekkie…”

 

Louis lifted his walkie-talkie to his lips and spoke into it, a quiet mumble that Liam couldn’t make out. Liam quickened his pace across the lawn as he watched Louis follow Harry into the Castle.

 

//

 

“Mr. Styles…”

 

Harry snorted at the formal address, looking over his shoulder and flicking his wet hair against the collar of his shearling jacket.

 

“That’s m’name,” he smirked.

 

He tugged at the thick cloth coating his thighs; lifting it up a little to air his legs. They felt prickly with the heat of his hike; the soft hair on them matted down with sweat. His socks were rumpled at his ankles just where his boots began.

 

“We need to talk,” Louis said, predictably.

 

Harry kept walking.

 

“Ye might feel the need to talk, little’un but I’m good, funnily enough.”

 

Harry let himself into the kitchen and threw his jacket to one side; walking through towards the laundry room with Louis on his heels.

 

“I’m employed to be here whether you like it or not,” Louis told him as Harry caught up the edges of his t-shirt in both hands and went to twist it off over his head; grimacing as his arm protested; forcing him to peel it off from his right side to his left instead. “If you could be part of the process then it makes things easier on everyone…”

 

“Easier?” Harry turned, having swiped his shirt off and flung it with a slap against the washing machine; the thick padding of his bandage evident as he clenched his hands into fists. “Nothin’ about this is easy, do ye hear? I don’ want no little’un watching out for me,” Harry stated. “I didnea ask for it and I don’ need it, alright?”

 

Louis stared at him, blue eyes piercing his and staying steady where most people would have slipped their gaze down to have a look at his chest. His bare chest; thickly muscled like his arms with hair coating between his pecs shyly.

 

“The fact that you think you don’t need me is exactly the reason we need to talk,” Louis rasped. “I don’t usually have to force people to want to save their own lives,” he added pointedly; eyes finally dropping to Harry’s chest.

 

Harry’s breathing spiked, something like hope flaring in his belly. Louis was incredibly attractive; all moody, dark eyes and kissable pink lips with the kind of hair Harry would _quite_ enjoy getting messy from its smooth side parting.

 

“If ye don’ mind I’d like to get myself clothed,” Harry said only, arching a brow as he clenched his teeth together against the urge to open his mouth to say something else, something entirely inappropriate. That was what had gotten him into trouble to start with; he didn’t need any more help in shaming his entire family.

 

Louis stared at him for another long minute before he turned to leave; a quiet sigh leaving his lips.

 

//

 

_“What are you drinking?”_

_Harry lifted his brow at the tall, dark-haired gentleman stepping into his space._

_“Shouldnae your first question be; what’s your name?” He batted back._

_The guy merely smiled; quite devastatingly handsome if Harry’s mildly tipsy mind had judged right._

_“My name is Connor,” the man provided._

_“Hershel,” Harry lied with a smirk._

_The guy nodded._

_“Mind if I call you Hersh?”_

_Harry grinned._

_“I’ll take a whiskey on the rocks,” Harry requested smoothly, reaching across the bar for a cocktail stick and slipping it between his lips; curling his tongue around the tip._

_Connor eyed him interestedly._

_“First time in a gay bar?” He wondered._

_Harry quacked out a sharp laugh._

_“Fuck, no!” He shrugged. “Just don’ get out that much.”_

_Connor paid for the drinks, sliding the whiskey across to where Harry leaned against the wooden counter of the bar._

_“What do you say to a few drinks and dares then?” He asked._

_Harry grinned; tucking his cocktail stick above his ear as he swigged his drink._

_“I say I like the sound of that,” he winked._

_//_

“Jesus!”

 

Harry woke with a sharp gasp; fighting against his constraints as he came-to; eyes startling open to assess his surroundings and for one second his heart felt like it would rip through his entire body and shoot out of the window.

 

“Fuck,” he added with a hiss; adrenaline slowing as he realised his arms were trapped in his bedsheet and not bound by some other means.

 

The dream had been graphic; dark and sinister and it featured every fear that he’d tried to walk off during the day. Someone had kidnapped him and held him captive. He’d been unable to move; his wounded arm sore now with his exertion and his body unusually hot. He flipped off the sheets and let the air cool his chest; glistening with anxious sweat. His hand smoothed over his skin; lingering over his belly so that he could drag his fingertips among his happy trail.

 

He let his large palm settle over the mound nestled in the front of his pyjamas; giving himself a reassuring squeeze.

 

“Ye alright, Styles,” he murmured to himself.

 

A scratchy high-pitched radio static sounded outside his door.

 

“Roger that…the gate has to be secure first, then start on the perimeter….just checking on his Highness now…”

 

Harry rolled his eyes. _His Highness_. He wasn’t actual royalty.  Laird was just a title; just a faint pompous role to play thanks to history and not due to choice. There was no way in hell he was going to allow that man to call him _his Highness_.

 

He rolled out of bed and stormed to the door, ripping it open.

 

“Can ye not talk so loudly outside my bedroom door?” He accused hotly.

 

Louis looked up, genuinely startled; his smart grey suit fitting him far too well. Harry would have to send him to his personal stylist and have his suits taken out so that the curves of his thighs weren’t quite as prominent.

 

“Apologies, Mr. Styles, we have a lot to do today and-“

 

“And don’ ye dare call me _his Highness_ again,” he added firmly, stepping back to loft  the door shut sharply in Louis’ face.

 

 _Hah_. That would teach him.

 

//

 

“The Eagle has landed,” Louis murmured into his walkie-talkie, blue eyes meeting Harry’s as he came down the grand staircase to find the security man waiting patiently in the foyer.

 

“Don’ ye have better things to do?” Harry wondered.

 

Louis only licked his lips.

 

“My team are on the majority of it,” he explained. “It’s _my_ job to keep _you_ safe.”

 

“Don’t think the psycho is coming back anytime soon,” Harry dismissed easily; turning the corner of the stairs to head for the kitchen.

 

Louis fell into step behind him.

 

“To the contrary, Mr. Styles,” Louis narrated. “I believe he’ll strike again within the next few days…”

 

Harry stopped dead; Louis having to bring himself up short to avoid colliding with him.

 

“What?” Harry frowned, concerned green eyes seeking out grey-blue as he twisted; tucking his hair back. His gaze swept the floor when Louis’ bore into him and he immediately regretted every pair of pyjamas he owned. He had on the black ones with penguins printed on them and they draped rather obscenely over his ass and manhood thanks to the fact they were cut for a female figure. “What do ye mean ‘he’? Do ye know who it is? When’s he coming back?”

 

Louis took a breath.

 

“I’ve done some profiling and this type of cavalier attack is usually committed by a male,” he began. “He's a professional. Paid a good sum I suspect. The motive to hire a hit man is usually borne out of jealousy,” he added. “Or; less commonly, if you plain pissed somebody off.”

 

Harry tilted his head, pouting his lip.

 

“I would ne’er piss anyone off…”

 

Louis continued without acknowledging him. “The first hit is bold but deliberately they wound their target; weakening their defences bit by bit until they have them immobile,” Louis described. “Look, Styles, you can’t go walking on your own anymore,” he stated. “Not until we’ve got this lunatic locked away.”

 

Harry felt his hackles rise; felt bile swish in his stomach and felt his chest spasm in fearful reaction to the news that his attacker would strike again; it was just a matter of _when_. The thought of being hurt again projected his fear towards anger. He couldn’t show anyone just how fucking scared he really was and that was as fucked up as the person wanting him dead.

 

“I dunnae know where you think ye get off tellin’ me what to do,” Harry started. “If some bastard wants me dead then he needs to try a bit harder,” he added, flexing his arm. “I’ve got some fight left in me.”

 

Louis pursed his lips, eyes reluctantly lifting to engage with Harry’s. Harry felt the riot inside him quell almost instantly; his raging emotions; thoughts and feelings all soothed by the murky sea blue. His brows furrowed confusedly as to why that was seeing as Louis operated with a stick up his ass. Harry swallowed down the thought of Louis operating _anything_ up _his_ ass. It was far too early and he wasn’t drunk enough to cope with the thought.

 

“This isn’t some game of machismo, Styles,” Louis called him by his surname again; a brave decision considering Harry’s standing but then he _had_ slammed a door in the man’s face less than two hours ago.

 

“Ye think I care about machismo?” Harry scoffed. “I guess ye haven’t read the headlines about me yet, wee laddie,” he remarked.

 

Louis lifted his chin; defiance burning in his eyes,

 

“I don’t care who you are,” he promised quietly. “I’m here to make sure you stay safe. And deliberately putting yourself in harm’s way is a dangerous game to play.”

 

Harry merely shrugged; gliding his fingers into his hair to toss it aside; his fingertips running against the bristles on his face with a quiet hiss. He was hungry and he wasn’t in the mood to listen to some teeny tiny annoying imposter who had no concept of what he was asking him to do.

 

“How're _you_ goin'ta save me anyway?” he twisted to flick assessing eyes over Louis as he set the kettle to boil. “You’re but a wee thing.”

 

Louis blinked coolly, chin lifting a little defiantly and the movement distracted Harry’s gaze to his jaw. Louis was clean shaven and unbelievably handsome; long thick lashes lowering to guard his eyes as his face tilted up. His little tongue flicked over tempting lips and Harry felt the word throb inside his brain as he watched it all in what felt like slow motion.

 

_Tempting tempting tempting._

 

He felt that throb dip through his body; settling between the thighs and causing him to smirk bemusedly at the reaction. Louis Tomlinson was not a man he would willingly bed for many reasons and yet his body seemed to feel otherwise.

 

“I may be small but you will see from my records that I never fail,” Louis promised quietly. “It's a common misconception that bulk and muscle count the most. They don’t,” he clipped.  “Intelligence is the strongest weapon.”

 

“Nay offense Lewis but that doesnae fill me with much comfort when I’ve got a gun to my head. How’re your brains goin'ta help me then?”

 

“I’m the fastest pistol draw in the business,” Louis murmured.  “I know three kinds of martial arts and I train incessantly with targets. Without wishing to sound cocky, I can take out any guy before his finger even hits the trigger...”

 

“Ye sound cocky,” Harry told him anyway, quietly impressed by Louis’ professed credentials. “But I happen to like cock so you’re in good grace.”

 

Louis seemed to relax a bit at that; lips pursing as his chin dipped to hide his smile. The very corners of his eyes crinkled and Harry wondered if he always looked that beautiful when he smiled.

 

“Does that mean we can actually have a conversation about the plan?” Louis schooled his features to ask.

 

Harry lifted two mugs out of the cupboard.

 

“Aye, it does,” he relented. “But you’ll have to come with me because I’m off out. I’ve got things to do, wee Lewis.”

 

“It's Louis,” he corrected and Harry shot him a blinding smile of achievement.

 

“Ah know,” he smirked.

 

//

 

Louis changed out of his suit for their expedition; wearing more relaxed attire of jeans and a jumper with a utility jacket that Harry wasn’t entirely unconvinced didn’t house a cross bow in its depths.

 

He’d put on his red plaid kilt with a black t-shirt; the thick wool laying warmly over his thighs and a trio of leather buckles swinging gently against his right leg as he walked.

 

“The boundary line is all up by this broken fence here,” Harry gestured to his right; climbing up the wooded corner to check on the peregrines who visited the woodland for their food source; the nest settled on the side of the mountain.

 

Louis didn’t appear to be listening; head twisting about to survey the landscape; ears nearly visibly pricked to listen for sounds of danger.

 

Harry almost startled, then, when he spoke; not expecting a response.

 

“We're working on the front gate first,” Louis explained. “The gates will have an electric current and barbed wire is being laid around most of the perimeter.”

 

Harry frowned.

 

“He didnae get inside the estate though,” he commented.

 

He’d heard the incessant noise of drilling of course; had avoided taking breakfast in the courtyard until the work was complete. But something in the way Louis spoke had him on edge about it all. Something didn’t feel right.

 

“I believe they may have already set foot on your land,” he admitted.

 

_Fuck._

_What else had Harry missed while he’d been too busy throwing a hissy fit?_

“Oh, aye?”

 

Louis nodded, keeping up with Harry’s relentless pace easily despite his average two steps to each of Harry’s wide strides. Harry refused to give him an easy ride. He didn’t want to babysit. But he owed Louis the chance to at least explain.

 

“You know them,” he assured.  “Enough that they believe they’ve got good reason to kill you,” he added. “And if my instincts are right, then they’ve paid a fuck load to get the job done. This guy isn’t sloppy...”

 

Harry twisted, pausing from their ascent up the hill to catch his breath. He was sweating already; calves tight with the work as he subtly stretched them out. He didn’t know how to express his real emotion here; he didn’t know how to say the words that would ultimately put himself right in the hands of his attacker. But he had to try.

 

“Have you ever been up against a guy like this before?” He wondered.

 

Louis held his gaze.

 

“I won’t let anything happen to you, Styles.”

 

“That’s not an answer,” Harry argued.

 

Louis stepped closer with a wry smile.

 

“If I tell you all my secrets you’ll use them against me,” he teased. “The only thing that matters here is that you know I’m ready to lose my life to protect yours.”

 

Harry’s nostrils flared as his eyes widened in indignant shock.

 

“The fuck you will!” He roared.  “Nobody, and I mean _nobody_ is dyin' out here because of me,” he promised.  “Like I told ye before, if this bastard wants me dead then I'm goin’ down fightin’.”

 

Louis stared at him, finally shifting his eyes away to check their surroundings.

 

“Let’s not argue about who gets to die,” he mused. “We should keep moving. What are you looking for out here anyway?”

 

Harry let his breathing regulate before he unzipped his sporran; dipping his fingers into the pouch to pull something out. He twisted away to uncap his inhaler; sucking in two squirts in succession.

 

“You have asthma?” Louis asked as they started up again more slowly this time.

 

“Aye an’ it’s a fuckin’ cunt,” Harry lamented, tucking his inhaler away and re-zipping his pouch.

 

“My sister has it,” Louis commented. “She had a really bad episode once, had to stay in hospital for three days.”

 

Harry glanced over his shoulder towards where Louis obediently followed him. He wasn’t looking up in that moment; eyes focused on the knotted tree roots tangling the woodland floor. Harry’s eyes flitted over his soft hair; tracing his strong shoulders and lowering to his legs.

 

Louis was enticingly strong in a quietly assured way that Harry had never come across in a guy before.  He could hardly boast being a man-whore, but he’d had his fill. When he'd been able to. The last six years had proved somewhat difficult; the odd fleeting fling and meaningless overnight encounter barely enough to wane his sexual appetite but something about Louis whetted his taste buds.

 

“Aye, I know the drill,” Harry replied to him eventually; tugging at his kilt as it snagged on a bramble shoot.

 

“So what are you looking for?” Louis asked again; changing the topic artfully.

 

“I stacked a few fallen trunks down here one summer;” he explained. “They've grown over with moss and are slowly rotting down.  The wee creepies love a dark damp place,” he added. “It’s perfect for mah birds...”

 

“Creepies?” Louis repeated confused.

 

“Aye. Creepy-crawlies,” Harry affirmed.

 

“You mean bugs?” Louis countered.

 

Harry peered over at him and reached gentle fingers out to push equally gently at Louis' shoulder.

 

“Don’t call them tha' they dunnae like it.”

 

Louis staggered only slightly at the shove, snorting out his derision.

 

“As if creepy crawlies is any better...”

 

“It's softer,” Harry insisted. “Cute, aye.”

 

“Wonder how soft and cute they feel when they realise you’ve trapped them into a life of being used solely for a food source for another animal,” he quipped.

 

Harry grinned at him without realising; pursing his lips and furrowing his brow just as quickly.

 

“The circle of life is stark, wee Lewis.  As ye know I'm at the bottom side of it right now...”

 

Louis hung back while Harry crouched by his log arrangement, the fabric of his kilt sliding up over his lightly haired knees and onto his thighs.  The definition in the muscle there was sleek; delicate almost against the ruggedness of the man.

 

He checked his weapons and looked around; assessing the dangers of the clearing.

 

The entire length of fence on this side of the woods was woefully insufficient. Broken completely down in places and barely a thin layer of chicken wire at most in others.

 

To build the kind of secure wall they needed would take _months_ and Louis knew Harry’s precious wildlife would be usurped while the work took place.

But he also knew that the killer would find a way in no matter what. He didn’t have months to secure the whole estate before the next attempt would be made.

Standing out there now; he doubted he even had days at best to make Harry as safe as possible.

 

_Fuck._

_He'd only ever failed one job and he’d been blindsided by one of his own. He wasn’t about to let that happen again._

 

“Hey,” Harry’s voice brought him out of his reverie; a concerned look on the taller man’s face. Louis shook himself out of his thoughts.

 

“Finished with your bug hotel?” Louis enquired.

 

Harry got up to move toward him; pausing halfway.

 

“Did ye hear somethin'?”

 

Louis met his gaze.

 

“No. Just considering the layout,” he assured.

 

No matter his personal fears, he had no right to project those onto Harry. As tempting as it was to use that fear to leverage Harry's compliance; it was Louis' job to escort him everywhere.

 

Harry walked closer still; the  shadows of the trees darkening the olive of his eyes to a pretty jade green. He'd tucked the hem of his kilt into the waistband apparently while he’d knelt on the woodland floor and his knees looked dirty from the pressure.

 

His thigh was pale and hairy but Louis couldn't miss the huge tiger inked there.  Somehow it matched the eagle he knew decorated his forearm and the butterfly in the middle of his tummy.

 

“Thigh-ger,” Louis guessed.

 

Harry paused. He smirked.

 

“You’re a bright wee thing for sure.”

 

Louis took a breath to temper his frustration. He moved forward with purpose, hands fisted by his sides. He hadn’t exactly planned what he did next but his objective was clear.

 

He tackled Harry around the middle with iron tight arms and hooked a foot around his ankle to trip him; landing with an organised thud which he quickly followed up on when Harry’s breath caught in surprise and he wriggled for freedom.

 

Louis gripped his wrists tightly and pinned them beside his ears after a struggle; his thighs keeping Harry’s twisting torso from bucking him off. He pressed a sharp knee against his thigh in added warning.

 

“I can take down any man, Styles,” he whispered dangerously. “Any size, any strength and any ego,” he added smugly. “Don’t ever doubt that...”

 

Harry’s face twisted in anger; surging against Louis’ hold on him.

 

“Get the fuck off me!” Harry demanded. “Fuckin’ hell!” He roared as he pushed against Louis' strength once more.

 

His eyes flared widely as he drew in a sharp breath and Louis caught the pure fear in the whites of his eyes. Immediately his hands lost grip on Harry’s wrists and he twisted away to stand aside; watching Harry compose himself into a seated position with quickened, desperate breaths.

 

“Mr. Styles-” He began, intending to apologise for overstepping his mark.

 

“You may as well start packing, Lewis,” Harry murmured in a low voice as he launched up to his feet and brushed himself free of dirt. “I want you gone by morning.”

 

//

 

_“Dare you!” Connor’s smile was bright enough  to convince Harry to consider it._

_A beautiful blonde had just offered to get naked for them both; requesting a threesome.  Harry had better ideas for the girl's offer; smirking at his newest comrade._

_“Give me your dress!” He bargained with a wide smile to seal the deal._

_“What?!” She laughed, looking between the men._

_“I dunnae want tuh fuck ya, lassie but I’ll take your dress,” he repeated, words slurred in his drunken state. “Swap,” he added, tugging his shirt._

_The girl shrugged, leading him to the toilets by the wrist. Crowded up in one of the stalls they kissed; Harry’s head spinning from whiskey more than desire. He had had women in his teens but girls just didn’t do it for him; it had never felt quite right. The first time he’d kissed a boy it felt like the whole world had set in its proper axes, spinning in the way it should.  He hadn’t stopped kissing boys after that._

_But he wanted the dress. And so he crowded her against the wall to strip it off her; his own clothes following after as they swapped outfits._

_Teagan tied the jeans at the waist with her hair scarf; knotting the shirt under her breasts. She lifted her arms and posed for him._

_“You like girls in your clothes?” she asked._

_Harry was already distracted; fingers roaming over the smooth pink floral fabric Teagan had just been wearing. He swallowed as a surge of eroticism stiffened his dick under the floaty cotton._

_“Ah like feeling pretty,” his loose tongue admitted._

_“Come and dance!” she encouraged._

_Harry darted her a look. He hadn’t worn girl’s clothes for over two years when his Uni best friend had let him borrow her stuff to wear when they hung out at her dorm. They’d played around when he'd got hard wearing the gear, but they’d never gone out like that in public._

_“I cannae do it, lass,” he murmured, licking his alcohol abraised_   _lips._

_“You can!” she grabbed his hand and tugged him out of the cubicle._

_//_

Louis was standing guard in the foyer when Harry trod down the grand stairs the next morning.

 

“I thought I told ye to leave,” he accused.

 

Louis merely smiled at him wanly.

 

“You don't actually control my employment,” he pointed out.

 

Harry didn’t bother wasting his breath arguing; instead he charged into his father’s office.

 

“Do ye have any idea what this imposter did to me?” He demanded when his father looked up from his desk.

 

Des's eyes shifted from Harry towards the doorway where Louis soon followed him through it.

 

“I’m sure you’ll inform me,” Des mused.

 

Harry’s brows furrowed. Did his father think this was some sort of _joke_?

 

“He tackled me to the ground,” Harry shouted. “What kind of security do ye call _that_?”

 

“Well if someone were taking a shot at ye, I'd consider it damn bonnie security,” he smiled.

 

“What if nairn were takin' a shot at me?” Harry ground the words out, thick with his accent.

 

Des glanced again at Louis.

 

“I'll leave you gentlemen alone,” he stood up, pushing his chair backwards to walk around the desk. He paused to hug Harry for a lingering moment.  “Make sure ye see your Mother today,” he murmured. “She worries about ye.”

 

Harry blinked in stunned silence as his father left the study. Louis walked around to position himself in Harry’s eye line.

 

“I owe you an apology,” he began contritely.

 

Harry scoffed and rolled his eyes.

 

“Unless ye mean it don’t fuckin’ bother.”

 

Louis twisted his lips, lifting his hands in front of him to link his fingers together in what could be perceived as a nervous gesture. Harry didn’t believe for one second that a guy who could shoot to kill could be nervous.

 

“You’re right. I lost my professional cool...admittedly you’re a complete ass but that’s no excuse for what I did.”

 

“Aye,” Harry narrowed his eyes, resting his palms against his sides triumphantly. “There's no excuse...”

 

Louis nodded.

 

“Maybe you can be less of an ass,” he added pointedly.

 

Harry merely smiled through tight lips, more a menacing baring of his teeth.

 

“Ah don’t think so, Lewis,” he countered stubbornly before stalking out of the room.

 

//

 

“Harold, darling,” Anne pulled Harry into a hug which he returned with the cautious tension of a man being constantly watched. “Wherever have you been?” She enquired.

 

“Out and about,” he shrugged with a soft, dimpled smile to win his mother’s good graces.

 

Anne cupped his bristled cheek.

 

“Be careful darling. The threat is still out there.”

 

Harry pulled out of her hold.

 

“And about to strike if Lewis has predicted it accurately,” he added with a dry lift of a brow towards the thirdt person in the room. 

 

“He’ll strike before the gunshot wound is fully healed,” Louis told them both.

 

Harry darted him a look, nostrils flared. His hand subconsciously lifted to cup the wound site on his right bicep; the skin still tender to the touch. It was hard to believe it had only been a matter of days since it had happened.

 

“What’ll they try next?” he wondered.

 

“They'll want to get closer,” Louis murmured.  “Close enough to use a knife or maybe even acid...I've seen cases where victims have crossed the street only to be hit by a speeding car.”

 

“Good god!” Anne gasped; her hand pressing against her chest as instant tears flooded her eyes. “Why ever would somebody do such a thing!”

 

Louis glanced at Harry who shot him an accusing glare before he moved to console his mother.

 

“Shh, Ma,” Harry soothed in a deep rumble. “Tha's not goin'ta happen,” he assured.

 

“Not on my watch,” Louis chipped in. Harry turned to look at him; releasing his Mother from his arms.

 

“This is because of the handover of the estate isnae it?” He asked.

 

Louis licked his lips.

 

“Seems somebody else feels quite strongly about you becoming Laird,” he mused.

 

Harry would have smiled ruefully if he didn’t feel like there was some kind of inexplicable certainty about the impending doom surrounding his fate.

 

Guilt flushed up his chest in a hot wave; regret twisting his heart bitterly afterwards. It was his fault that somebody wanted him dead. And he could understand it. It had been spelled out to him by the Governors that an _alternative_ Laird was not a favoured move within the community. The government and the folk wanted _tradition._ Des and Anne had run the castle that way. Harry had bucked the trend by choosing not to marry; followed by being dogged by rumours of a homosexual lifestyle and evidence of cross dressing.

 

“Then we can resolve this,” Harry stated finally, dark brows drawn together as he stared at Louis intensely. “We can fix this in a swift jiffy...all we have t’do is announce my rejection. Uncle Stephen or wee Christopher can take the title,” Harry stated.

 

Louis glanced at Anne. They’d had this conversation the morning he'd arrived and the current Laird and Lady were quite adamant that Harry take his rightful place. Louis had suggested they run a fake article suggesting a change of tactic but Des had been the one to point out that no bigot was going to play blackmail with his son.

 

If folk weren’t happy about having a gay Laird then it was tough titties, he’d said.

 

“We're not going to bend to this kind of terrorism, Harry,” Anne told him.

 

He twisted towards her and away from Louis.

 

“You'd rather call his bluff?” He challenged of his killer.

 

Louis cleared his throat.

 

“It's possible that even by announcing your rejection, the hitman will keep going. Sometimes they’re paid to complete a job; no lines of communication left open to stop the action.”

 

“Aye, I’ve seen that in a movie,” Harry told him sarcastically. “We live in the real world here...”

 

“When you take the estate the threat could come back,” Louis added quietly.

 

“So what your sayin’ is that we're to flush him out?” He checked.

 

Steady blue eyes held his.

 

“That’s why I was hired, Sir.”

 

“Oh I'm _Sir_ now, am I?” Harry rolled the sounds off his tongue in the way only a true Scotsman could. “Dunnae start kissing mah behind now, Lewis, I'd hate to get the wrong idea about why ye had a change of heart...”

 

“Mostly to keep you alive,” he quipped bluntly.

 

Harry looked bewildered for a few seconds before his body tensed up with frustration.

 

“Right ah'm goin'ta find this bastard and kick his ugly behind!” Harry threw his hands up and smacked them down against his outer thighs, the flaps of his kilt jumping at the force. “I’m goin' out,” he added hotly as he twisted to head for the door.

 

Louis quickly followed behind.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Harry had a rifle.

 

Louis carefully surveyed his profile as he stalked down the drive which led onto the main road to the village; a barren and frigid place with only three shops trading.

 

Harry often walked the two miles to fetch things from the hardware store that doubled as a bakery.  He had a sweet tooth which he refused to admit to anyone.

 

The walk felt long with a tiny teeny patter of feet echoing behind him.

 

“Ye really never read a rag on me?” Harry called over his shoulder.

 

Louis frowned.

 

“That’s not how I work.”

 

“Why not?” Harry twisted, slowing his pace enough so that Louis fell into sync beside him.

 

“I prefer to get to know my clients based off my own judgements.”

 

“My past could be contributing to the threat though,” Harry argued. “Surely that’s worth investigating?”

 

Louis slid his eyes away into the centre of the road. Harry chuckled drily. So he _had_ seen them.

 

“Just because I looked into all the possibilities when I was profiling this cretin, it doesn’t mean I place any importance on what the trash press write,” he commented. “I’ve worked with bigger fish than you.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Harry smirked. “Like who?”

 

“The Prime Minister,” Louis smiled wanly back. “Worked with him for four years.”

 

Harry stared at him for a beat too long. The news had silenced his wry tongue.

 

“What was it like?”

 

If Louis was surprised by his genuine curiosity he didn’t show it.

 

“Tough,” Louis admitted with a press of his lips. “In some ways it was easier to plan everything because the itinerary was water tight” he explained. “But the level of intensity was-“ Louis paused, frowning slightly.

 

“Overwhelming?” Harry guessed.

 

He often felt overwhelmed himself. He hadn’t even had a conversation yet with his parents about what kind of Laird he might be and whether he’d be able to live as he wished; choosing a husband to share his land.

 

If he couldn’t find a true partner in crime then he didn’t want the status. He didn’t want the prestigep or the responsibility that came with pretending to be someone he wasn’t.

 

He wanted to use his position to petition for environmental matters; to start charities for underprivileged children and help animals in need of care.

He may be a hunter but he was a nomad; a man who used only the provisions he foraged himself from his land and he knew more than most that there was a delicate balance in survival.

 

He was used to being alone.

 

“When he left office, I resigned,” Louis shared. “And for a while I took a quiet job. An easy job,” he sighed.

 

Harry peered at him bemusedly.

 

“Ye sound like ye beatin' yeself up,” he observed. “I’d think after watching the most important man in the country that takin' a quiet job was exactly the right thing t’do...”

 

Louis smiled brilliantly; the spontaneous flash of his bright teeth inspiring Harry to grin back at him.

 

“What's so bloody funny?”

 

“Well,” Louis peered at him carefully. “Was that you actually _agreeing_ with me?”

 

Harry pursed his lips, brow arching and a flustered huff leaving his lips which curved tellingly.

 

“Ne'er!” He quickly assured. 

 

Louis smirked to himself; glancing around as the distant sound of a car engine filtered into his conscience. He moved in front of Harry out of instinct, holding his arm across Harry's front protectively while they waited at the side of the road until the car had passed.

 

Harry gave him an expectant look as they moved to carry on walking.

 

“What?” Louis asked.

 

“You werenae lying about the one that got hit by a car then...”

 

“Not in the habit of lying, Princey. “

 

“Tha's not my name,” Harry nipped the nickname in the bud.

 

“You don’t like _Styles_ or _Sir_ ,” Louis pointed out. “What else is there? Princ _ess_?” He teased.

 

Harry felt something like excitement shimmer through him. He wished he _could_ be a Princess sometimes. He wished he could paint his nails and darken his lashes and slip on silky skirts that glided coolly over hairless skin instead of sweating heavily under woollen layers; haired legs brushing roughly together. He carefully swallowed down his secret desires.

 

“Dare I suggest ye call me Harreh?” he murmured with a twinkle in his olive eyes.

 

Louis met those amusement-bright eyes with a sparkle in his own.

 

“Trade off,” he broached. “If you call me by my name, I’ll call you by yours.”

 

Harry stopped, brows drawn together in consideration. When he twisted to stick out his hand in silent agreement; Louis was momentarily taken in by his beauty. He really could be a Princess with his dark luscious curls and deep red lips.

 

He clasped Harry’s hand and shook it in mutual agreement.

 

//

 

The snow which had cushioned Harry’s fall the day he got shot began steadily falling the second they stepped into the general store.

 

Louis quietly followed Harry around each aisle; senses on alert as he checked outside at regular intervals.

 

“Do ye ever relax?” Harry asked conversationally as he considered two different bottles on the shelf; picking each one up to read the fine print.

 

When Louis focused on the product, he realised that Harry was buying lubricant. In Cherry or Mint.

 

Harry shrugged and slipped both bottles into his basket.

 

“Can I fetch anythin' for ye while I’m here, Loueh?”

 

Louis took a second to stare at him for the way he pronounced his name. He'd not heard it spoken aloud before in his thick, deep baritone.

 

“No, I’m good, thanks,” Louis replied; ignoring the innuendo.

 

“How does it work for ye, anyway?” Harry asked. “Have ye got a wife tucked away somewhere? A girl at every port?”

 

Louis glanced around; shoulders tense with unease. The snow was falling heavily now; already forming a layer on the ground. They were easily two miles from the castle with only Liam as back-up to fetch them. Louis pressed his thumb into his walkie-talkie to request a car but the static came back dead.

 

“We should find a cab,” Louis told him; bypassing his question. “The weather seems to have tampered with the range of my radio.”

 

“Got my mobile,” Harry tugged it out of his Sporran to wiggle it in front of himself.

 

“Already checked mine,” Louis met his gaze. “No signal.”

 

Harry tutted slowly.

 

“And you're the _best_ in your field you say?”

 

Louis stiffened.

 

“I can protect you, Harry, but you have to work with me,” he pointed out. “We left with no time to prepare for a fall-back plan. Your fall-back right now is _me_.”

 

Harry felt something like guilt creep over him; realisation dawning on him that he was being completely and utterly selfish.

 

It wasn’t just _his_ wellbeing that hung in the balance. He now had the responsibility of somebody else’s life weighing on him. And as much as he didn’t want to be watched, the truth of the matter was that he had to be; because he was the future Laird of Montgomery.

 

And if his actions had been taken in petty rebellion against his destiny then he was already failing the community he was meant to serve. The folk deserved better. Louis deserved better. He had a family somewhere; people that cared and Harry had just unthinkingly put that at risk.

 

“There arenae any cabbies out here,” he swallowed as Louis' gaze whipped to him. “The best we can do is to stay the night at Horan’s,” he murmured.

 

“What’s Horan’s?” Louis checked sceptically.

 

“It’s a pub across the way,” he lifted his chin in the general direction. “Niall has a couple of rooms up top.”

 

Louis nodded, a concerned look aimed outside for a long minute.

 

“I’ll see if I can secure it for the night,” he murmured as he walked toward the window to peer out; as if expecting an attack at any second.

 

Harry tried to hide the quiver in his hands as he paid for his goods; his fear returning as sharply as the snow had fallen.

 

//

 

 

Niall was a warm and welcoming host.

 

“Don’t you worry yourself Louis,” the Irish born pub-owner assured. “This place is as safe as the castle...”

 

The fact that Niall had a great dane called Jericho was something of a bonus. Louis had trained action dogs in his teens and while Harry showered and got changed into spare clothes, Louis spent an hour to teach Jericho a few new commands.

 

What Louis _didn’t_ like was the fact that the two rooms were at opposite ends of a hallway. There was no way he’d be able to get to Harry in time should someone take their chance tonight. He had to sleep in the hallway; with Jericho positioned at the foot of the stairs.

 

When Louis had finished his own shower and dressed into borrowed joggers and a hoodie that swamped him; he shovelled down his dinner and wandered into the lounge Niall had fashioned from what would have ordinarily been a third bedroom. Niall had built his own annex out back and when Louis came into the room he found the blonde man sitting in a chair beside the sofa where Harry was laid on his side; curled up in a pink fleece onesie.

 

“He’s all yours,” Niall winked. “Did he tell ya he likes wearin’ girly clothes?”

 

Louis met his gaze with a swallow.

 

“I heard a rumour,” he answered carefully.

 

Harry’s hair laid in thick; damp curls over his shoulders; the fringe loosened from its usual grip behind his ear and curtaining softly across his forehead in a way that seemed to tickle his nose if the periodic scrunching of it was anything to go by.

 

“He’d die before he admitted it,” Niall murmured as he came level with Louis.

 

Louis frowned.

 

“What that he cross dresses?” He mused. “Not that big of a deal,” he murmured.

 

Niall glanced at him.

 

“I meant he’d die before admitting he’s afraid,” he clarified.

 

Louis frowned; eyes going over the soft shape of the long man on the couch; shallow breaths drawn in and out of his nose; arms folded across his front and knees drawn up with his ankles crossed sweetly.

It was certainly a different image than the stomping, belligerent Scotsman that Louis had come to know. But equally this version was inexplicably enticing.

 

More so perhaps because the soft pink all-in-one went against every stubborn; independent inch of the man Harry presented himself to be.

 

“Maybe you can convince him it’s okay,” Niall patted his shoulder before he left and Louis had almost forgotten he was in the room.

 

//

 

“Harry,” Louis rubbed a gentle hand over his injured arm. “Hey, wake up Sleeping Beauty...”

 

Harry fidgeted but his eyes remained shut. Louis swallowed; fingers reaching out to brush away his fallen hair; relieving him of the itch. Two olive eyes popped open; focusing on him with a startled gasp.

 

“You’re not in bed,” Louis told him simply as Harry began to frown with a disgruntled pout.

 

Harry blinked and swallowed; shifting to sit up. He swiftly tied his hair into a bun; the process fascinating Louis who watched with a lightness he hadn’t felt all day.

 

“You really are a Princess,” he muttered as Harry stood up and wavered. “Come on, I’ve checked your mattress and there aren’t any peas...”

 

“I happen to love peas,” Harry told him sleepily. “Find another man who likes peas more than me...”

 

“Why do I get the feeling there’s a joke there I’m missing,” Louis wondered as he steered Harry across the hall.

 

Harry plopped onto the bed with a shiver. Louis tugged the hot water bottle out from under the covers.

 

“P's,” Harry mumbled. “You know...penises....”

 

Louis smirked.

 

“Right, get some sleep, Harold,” he murmured.

 

“Loueh?”

 

Louis paused on his way out.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Have you got a wife and kids?”

 

Louis swallowed.

 

“No.”

 

Harry turned in the bed.

 

“A girlfriend?”

 

He let out a quiet chuck of amused air.

 

“Fucking hell, Harry,” he sighed. “I like boys myself,” he announced starkly.  “And no, there’s no boyfriend either.  It’s just me.”

 

Harry twisted again; the rustle of the sheets giving him away.

 

“G'nite,” he managed to slur thickly before falling into sleep.

 

//

 

“No! Fuck! Get off me!”

 

Louis was up off the chair he’d commandeered to place in the hallway in three seconds; Harry’s door bust open and his pistol drawn and ready to shoot.

 

His adrenaline shot around his veins too quickly putting him on hyper alert and there was nothing in the room to warrant it.

 

“Let go of me! I said _let go_! Loueh?” his emotion ravaged voice called out in the half-light; eyes squeezed shut while his body was wracked with the bad dream.

 

Louis switched the safety guard back on his gun and nestled it in the holster; heading toward the bed.

 

“No! Don’t hurt me! Please!” Harry’s big body twisted; lungs gasping for air and rattling with wheezy strain.

 

Louis quickly turned to find his clothes, digging out his Sporran to unzip it in search of his inhaler; striding to the bed once he found it.

 

“Harry, wake up!” He stirred him carefully. “It’s just a dream!”

 

“Fuck!” Harry whispered and Louis looked down to check if he was still dreaming but the teary-eyed messy-haired man staring back at him told him Harry had woken up with a sharp jolt of reality.

 

“You need this,” Louis pressed the inhaler against his chest where Harry's hand had rested once his distress had waned.

 

Harry opened his mouth to speak but the weak suck of air into his lungs proved Louis’ point. His eyes fixed on Louis but his hand didn’t move to administer the medication.

 

“Let’s get you up,” Louis helped prop him into a seated position; shaking the canister the way he had watched Harry do it. He unclipped the cap and lifted it towards Harry’s mouth.

 

Harry parted his lips enough for Louis to slip the mouthpiece in; Harry gripping the plastic with his lips quickly after.

 

“Okay, on three,” Louis instructed. “One, two, three,” he pressed the canister down into the chute; expressing the contents in a flush as Harry sucked it in, taking three quick breaths after.

 

When his eyes flicked to Louis he asked, “Again?” and counted once more, giving Harry a second shot.

 

Harry dipped backwards; weak fingers searching for a hold and tangling into the loose folds of Louis’ loaned sweater.

 

Louis waited patiently for Harry’s breathing to slow to the point it didn’t hitch anymore.

 

“See?” He smiled. “I’m handy to have around.”

 

Harry stared at him; fingers clutching his top as he stood to go. His eyes widened and his nostrils flared in what Louis now recognised as fear. Harry didn’t let go.

 

“Ye think we could sit an' watch TV awhile?” Harry asked.

 

Louis pursed his lips. Harry needed to rest. If his quality of sleep was this bad then he’d struggle to stay alert when he needed to be. But Louis couldn’t soothe Harry back into an unblemished sleep either. And he didn’t know Harry’s history with Niall but he didn’t like the idea of fetching the man to comfort him.

 

“Trade off,” he broached.  “You go back to sleep and I’ll make a bed here on the floor...”

 

Harry twisted onto his side to watch while Louis constructed a make-do mattress out of sofa cushions; dragging in a duvet to settle over himself.

 

Louis only let his eyes close when heard a deep satisfied hum from the bed.

 

//

 

By the time Louis registered movement downstairs, he knew it was already too late to get back to the Castle without being seen.

 

He ate a quick breakfast with Jericho sitting obediently at his feet and slung back a hot tea before digging through Niall's wardrobe for another set of clothes. Niall's stuff fitted him mostly but he had to stick with workout gear for Harry; disguising him by pulling a beanie over his drawn-up hair.

 

“Ye want me to talk like a street kid, too, Loueh?” Harry asked drily as he stood up; his clothes and purchases shoved into a rucksack which Louis shouldered.

 

“I’ve got us a car,” Louis  told him as they moved toward the stairs; punters milling about in the hallway and putting him on edge as he focused on their movements; aggrieved at the idea of their exit being blocked. “It's a red Ford parked down the street so you turn right and walk six feet.”

 

Harry glanced at him with a furrow in his brow.

 

“Why’re we doing it like this?”

 

Louis didn’t know if he had the courage to tell him.

 

“Change in tactics,” he shared.  “There’s still snow down so we can’t hike home.”

 

Harry’s frown deepened; his expression turning indignant.

 

“You're keepin' somethin' from me,” he accused. “What’s changed?”

 

Louis looked at him.

 

“We don’t have time for this now, Harry.  Just walk to the car, alright?”

 

Harry stared back; olive eyes flecked with gold and something else besides. He looked like he wanted to argue; like he wanted to be stubborn for the sake of it but then Jericho nudged his head against Harry’s hand for attention and the motion seemed to dissipate the tension in Harry's body.

 

“You’re coming, aye?” He gently asked.

 

Louis nodded with a wry twist of his lips.

 

“Aye.”

 

//

 

_“Uncle Louis, where are we going?” Crystal Chambers asked in her pure voice; naturally curious for a four year old._

_“We’re going to play hide and seek,” Louis told her. “But the rules are a bit different.”_

_Crystal’s little fingers curled around the collar of his unbuttoned shirt._

_“Different how?”_

_“Well you and I will hide together and nobody will find us,” he described. “And then we’ll run out at the end and shout surprise!”_

_The little girl pouted, blinking thoughtfully as she looked into his face._

_“We have to hide from the bad man again don’t we?” She asked solemnly._

_Louis swallowed; crouching to fling open a manhole cover; getting a firm grip on the ladder rungs with his plimsolled foot._

_“Put your arms around my neck darling. Hold on tight.”_

_He felt Crystal shaking as he slowly made his way down into the empty water pipes. They were big enough not to have to duck and he’d checked the blue prints thoroughly. There was a route that led them out to the other side of town; to a place they weren’t expected to be seen._

_“You’re being so brave, darling.” He added as he got his footing on the concrete bottom; puddles splashing the toes of his shoes._

_“You look after me Uncle Louis,” the girl responded to his praise._

_He rubbed her back and started forward._

_“Yeah I do,” he assured. “That’s what I’m here for.”_

_Louis ‘ heart ached for the four- year-old whose whole life was controlled by the fact she was born to a property tycoon who had recently been arrested for tax fraud and subsequently filed for bankruptcy leaving investors in his business livid at their lost money._

_Poor little Crystal had become a pawn in a very serious game that she knew nothing about and yet she was indescribably intelligent; clever enough to know why Louis was there and why her parents weren’t._

_“Is Mummy okay?” she whispered._

_“Uncle Andrew has her at a safe house,” Louis promised. “We’re just going to see them now...”_

_He turned right at the corner ahead; the distinctive click and shuffle of a shotgun being loaded stopping him dead in his tracks._

**_Fuck_ ** _._

_He darted his eyes upwards as his fingers reached smoothly for his own gun tucked into his jeans band in rushed replacement for his holster; the Magnum safety catch shifted and a bullet expelled before the rifle trigger had been touched._

_He spun and ducked; Crystal wrapped tight against his chest as he rolled; two more shots quickly expelled into the attacker’s shins while the rifle exploded above their heads._

_Louis rolled on top of the girl and prayed his first shot had hit home in the assailant’s chest; piercing his heart._

_//_

The pavement was slippery; the layer of snow semi-walked on and frozen over to smooth ice.

 

Louis ushered Harry out of the pub doorway onto the path; hovering close to him on the short walk to the car.

 

Harry was no sooner leaving the protection of the building when a scrabbling noise came from above them on the roof.

 

Louis was prepared for anything but the thirty foot drop from the tiled roof to the ground was stark by anyone’s standards and it caught him unawares. By time he realised an assailant was above them; he was already at a disadvantage.

 

“Get down!” He grabbed Harry's biceps and pushed hard enough to over- balance him but the way he took him down was as careful as the situation allowed, his Magnum drawn as two sharp zips landed by his calves.

 

“Fucker!” Louis hissed.

 

_So the psycho wanted his kneecaps shot out, did he?_

 

“Jerry!” He yelled, his back to Harry’s chest as he twisted to take two more shots; this time with the intent to injure. His first shot had been a gentle warning.

 

The next two hit; earning a cry of anguish as the assailant ran away; an idling car settled at the far end of the street.

 

As soon as the big dog was present, Louis ordered him to stay; a sting in his elbow making him wince. He glanced down; gun poised in front of his face with both hands and he caught the steady plop of blood hitting the pavement.

 

So he’d been hit. The bullet wasn’t embedded in him but it had been pretty close.

 

He started on the chase; ducking down behind the cars lining the road as the attacker hobbled to the getaway car, the idea of an accomplice filling Louis with dread.

 

He was going to need back-up if two guys were involved. He could take down a lone wolf but two against one wasn’t heroic; it was plain stupid.

 

The tyres squealed against tarmac as they pulled away; the details of the car documented automatically by Louis’ mind. The build and height of the attacker, the way he had limped on getting hit. He would find those bastards if he had to hunt them down himself.

 

Only once the car was no longer visible in the distance did Louis' breathing relax. Only then did he dip his gun and secure the safety catch.

 

He slowly returned to reality; turning to tune into the deep throated grumbling coming from behind him.

 

“Loueh, for the love of Saint Andrew would ye get this stupid mutt off'a me?!” Harry yelled.

 

Louis holstered his gun and trekked back towards the pub where Jerry was following his command; sitting sprawled across Harry's body.

 

//

 

“Secure him in his room,” Louis barked as he bundled a blanket- shrouded Harry into the foyer.

 

“Ahm not goin'ta my room,” Harry twisted to toss away the warm cover. “You’re bleedin' in case ye missed it...”

 

Louis bent to pick up the blanket while the foyer began to fill with the occupants of the house.

 

“Harold!” Anne rushed to hug him, the crisp swish of her silk skirts brushing Louis' shins. He felt like a failure.  Today hadn’t gone anywhere near as smooth as he’d hoped and he felt wrecked; physically and perhaps a little emotionally too.

 

He had never lost a client and he wasn’t about to start now but the roof drop had taken him by surprise. Harry could be dead because of his slip in expectation.

 

“I’m fine,” Harry gently batted everyone away. “And I need to attend to Loueh‘s arm, alright?”

 

“Let Sara do that,” Anne soothed; brushing Harry’s mound of hair away from his face. “You need to stay safe. “

 

“Aye and does that include not tellin’ me about the bricks gettin’ thrown over the gate with messages callin' me a poofter?” He enquired pointedly; earning a startled look from Louis. “And don' think you’re off tha hook, short stuff,” he added. “But your bawlin‘ can wait until we’ve got that wound cleaned up...”

 

“I can manage,” Louis assured.

 

Harry scoffed and walked toward him to steer him towards the stairs.

 

“Humour me,” Harry insisted softly.

 

//

 

“Aye it looks pretty bad, Loueh,” Harry commented gravely as he carefully twisted Louis’ arm to survey the wound.

 

The blood was still wet; trickling from the cut gouged on the outside of his elbow.

 

“It's just a graze,” Louis rolled his eyes, shivering a bit.

 

The Castle was cold, stone walls and floors covered with rugs and tapestries and the bedrooms papered. But the bathrooms were tile and slate and he'd taken his top off to get cleaned up. Only Harry seemed to be dawdling.

 

He swallowed as his nipples peaked in the cool air; Harry's intense gaze shifting to observe the movement and then lifting to Louis’ face.

 

Louis braced himself for some kind of dirty remark; something suggestive and demeaning.

 

“I know ye bein' paid to do a job, wee laddie, but ye not to put yeself in harm's way again,” he instructed.

 

Louis pursed his lips to fight a smile; his eyes crinkling anyway.

 

“Aye, I’m hilarious,” Harry added with a huff when he caught the reaction.

 

“I’ve shot and wounded more people than you’ve slept with,” he mused. “Not sure where you’ve got this idea that I need protecting...”

 

Harry lifted a brow; hair soft and frizzy in its bun from where he'd tugged the beanie off.

 

“I dunnae; I’ve slept wi' a lot of folk,” he smirked.

 

Louis twisted his arm to look at the gash; hissing as the disinfectant Harry was gently cleaning it with splashed right into the bloodied trench.

 

Harry gripped his wrist and frowned mulishly.

 

“Will ye please sit still?” He exasperated.

 

Louis rested his elbow on the edge of the sink. Harry moved to switch on the heater; carrying a robe back with him which he stubbornly arranged around Louis' shoulders despite Louis' attempt to get up to slip it on.

 

“ _Please_ is in your vocabulary then,” Louis murmured.

 

Harry snorted.

 

“Aye. Along with a few other words ye probably dunnae want t'hear.”

 

Louis flinched when the healing water sluiced his cut; clenching his teeth tightly together.

 

“Fuck it,” he whispered; squeezing his eyes shut and dipping his chin. He looked over his arm to check the wound again; blood refilling it steadily.

 

“Do ye want me to fetch the doctor?” Harry twisted to fetch a wad of gauze to stem the flow.

 

Louis shook his head, taking a breath and relaxing slightly.

 

“I’ll be fine, Princess.”

 

“Aye I’ve heard tha' before an' all,” he accused. “I’m not leavin' ye until ye not bleedin’ anymore,” he promised stubbornly.

 

Louis looked at the side of his face while he concentrated in applying pressure to his wound; his eyes drifting to rest on Louis after a few minutes of him staring.

 

“Ye goin'ta try an' defy me, short stuff?” He asked.

 

Louis swallowed; too tired and weak to argue. It might be the first time he’d ever willingly given up control but something about it felt oddly easy.

 

“Bandage me up, nurse,” he murmured with a tug of his lips.

 

//

 

“Are ye sure you’re alright to work, lad?” Des eyed Louis with narrowed hazel eyes.

 

“Yes, Sir, I’m fine.”

 

“T’was a pretty big gash ye had there...”

 

“I’ve worked with worse,” Louis assured. “And if I felt in any way encumbered by my injury then I wouldn’t let Harry’s safety be compromised by carrying on for the sake of my pride,” he promised. “I wasn’t expecting the roof-top assault but I’m good for the job, Sir.”

 

“Ye best start calling me Des,” the older man relaxed into a smile. “Have ye had ye breakfast yet?”

 

Louis smiled, too, shaking his head.

 

“Get some tea, Tomlinson,” he encouraged. “Stand down for a wee while.”

 

//

 

It was difficult, finding the time.

 

It wasn’t very often that he was alone. And when he was alone, he was up in the mountains and trees and he couldn’t just-

 

“Oh-“

 

His long fingers; gently wrapped one by one around his hot, thick shaft; jerked in a swift stroke.

 

He bit his lower lip to temper the weakened moan in his throat.

 

 _Fuck_ , that felt good.

 

Not as good as being fucked, maybe. Not as good as his favourite dildo but—

 

The fingers of his free hand crawled across the soft velvet of the den sofa; curling around a slinky soft material. When he scrunched it into his palm the rasp of lace made him shiver.

 

“Mmm..” He smiled to himself; breathing quickening.

 

Silk. Lace. _Beautiful_.

 

He opened his eyes; lids heavy with arousal as he flicked his eyes to the panties; spreading them out against his thigh.  How would they feel on his body? Would they cling over him or was he too big? Would they flatter his ass? He needed to know.

 

Not now, maybe, he mused as his hand tugged leisurely at his heat; quickening when he heard noises outside in the hall.

 

 _Fuck_. He might get caught! Caught red handed.

 

With a pair of panties and his own come splashed across his torso. He groaned and licked his lips; body twisting and arching off the seat slightly.

 

“Need it,” he mumbled, letting go of his dick only long enough to snag the panties and wrap the soft material around himself instead. “Fuck yeah.”

 

It was quick after that, harsh gasps alternated with frantic whimpers and then the searing whirlpool in his belly let loose; hot splashes hitting his flushed skin in heavy rain.

 

“Aye,” he husked with a smug grin. “Aye that’s good...”

 

A sharp rap against the wooden door had him jolting upright.

 

“Who is it?” He called out; voice deeper than usual if anyone noticed.

 

“Your babysitter,” Louis’ voice called back. “You have a meeting,” he added in reminder.

 

Harry chuckled to himself as he swiftly pulled his sweatpants over his bare hips and rolled his t-shirt over his pinched, puffy nipples and come-splattered belly.

 

He got up and swaggered to the door; swishing it open in a flush.

 

“I better get my Sunday best on then,” he murmured; strolling toward the stairs.

 

//

 

Louis was struggling to concentrate on the meeting.

 

Harry had yet to formally accept the Lairdship offered to him and due to his hesitation, Des had arranged for him to attend a children’s art group which currently took place at the community centre.

 

It wasn’t a high risk venture and Louis had hired a part-time second man to watch the Castle while he attended to Harry’s safety but the school visit wasn’t what was concerning him.

 

What he had found tucked down the back of the den sofa cushions _was._

He had almost wondered if Harry was playing some kind of sadistic trick on him but the long haired Lord had merely eyed him cautiously as they discussed the details of his engagement with no apparent signs of mischief if he was indeed playing games.

 

Louis had thought maybe, just maybe, the newspapers had been wrong about Harry. That he hadn’t really got up on a table in a bar in a dress to sing ‘Man I Feel Like A Woman.’ He’d thought perhaps he hadn’t really shared himself with both sexes; living a hedonistic sexual lifestyle that most men wouldn’t dream of.

 

The pretty lilac silk panties he had rescued from the sofa seemed to confirm every sordid headline. Crusted with dried semen and creased from being clutched; Louis hadn’t quite known what to do when he had found them.

 

Wandering into the room to check for signs of bugging or forced entry at the windows; the pale mauve had caught his eye. And he couldn’t quite seem to meet Harry’s eyes since.

 

He hadn’t registered that Des and Anne had left the room; leaving he and Harry alone sat across from each other at the board table.

 

Harry steepled his long fingers, elbows rested on the surface.

 

“Ye really dunnae think he’ll try again at the school?” He asked, eyes narrowing assessingly on Louis’ face.

 

“Whatever this scumbag paid for, it’s not going to involve hurting innocents,” Louis assured, sensing Harry’s real concerns.

 

“I'd ne'er forgive myself if a littl’un got hurt becau' of me,” he slurred his words together thickly.

 

“Too late,” Louis teased, smirking when he earned Harry’s bewildered expression. “Well, since you call me little that means one of us has already been hurt,” he mused.

 

Harry didn’t seem to take it as a joke. Louis watched as he stood from his chair, leaning over the table in his cropped jacket; the smart red matching the plaid of his kilt.

 

“Ah've been a selfish prick, aye,” he admitted. “But I'm not about to let ye or anyone else get hurt because of me,” he added. “It's not youse fault that some bigoted bastard is out there tryin' to pick me off piece by piece...”

 

“I’m not saying-“

 

“I _hate_ that the fact that because I’ve slept with a few boys means that any one of you has to worry about stayin’ alive,” Harry countered. “And I’m not about to stop fuckin' but if I can stop anyone else getting hurt then tha's what I’ll do...”

 

Louis swallowed, eyes slowly creeping up to meet Harry's defiant ones.  The fire burning in them might ordinarily be erotic but Louis' tummy tensed at the sight. He looked so close to tears and yet his skin was flushed with anger underneath his half buttoned shirt; hot and blotchy.

 

Louis was stunned to recognise the emotion that Niall had warned him about.

 

_He’d die before admitting he’s afraid_

Harry was afraid, Louis could see it now underneath the bluster.

 

“I'll call in some extra help,” he settled on saying.

 

Harry looked appeased by the suggestion.

 

“And I can still protect you if you want to visit your boyfriend,” Louis added quietly.  “All you need to do is let me know when and where you’re going. “

 

Harry stared at him with a fixed expression until a wry twist of his lips broke the tension.

 

“I dunnae have a boyfriend,” he shrugged. “I usually fetch myself a hot, rugged man from the local gay bar.”

 

Louis took a breath against the instinct that rose within him to stop Harry from going out and finding strangers to fuck. He had lied. He _couldn't_ protect Harry from the possibility that his assailant could pose as one of those strangers and murder him in his own bed.

But his job wasn’t to stop him. It was to make him as safe as possible.

 

“I suggest you get a name next time,” he offered. “I can get him checked before you bring him home.”

 

Harry tutted thickly and rolled his eyes.

 

“I don’t bring my conquests home, short stuff. Too messy,” he added thoughtfully.

 

Louis nodded once and shifted to get up.

 

“What’s the plan today, Princess?”

 

Harry’s glare was worth the teasing nickname in response to Harry's.

 

//

 

Harry launched out of the swimming pool with the fluid grace of a competent swimmer; big hands sluicing the water from his long hair as he struggled to get a full breath.

 

“You forgot something...”

 

That soft raspy voice was getting annoying. He opened his eyes.

 

Louis was dressed in his casual attire; the standard now since he’d worked out Harry rarely dressed formally. His jeans and plimsolls made him appear deceptively soft.  Much like the grey jumper clinging to his lean torso.

 

Harry’s eyes seemed to linger on his shoulders and he arched a brow at the same time he tipped his knee outwards; using one hand to cup his naked privates.

 

“My inhaler,” Harry acknowledged.

 

Louis stepped forward, slipping the canister from his jeans pocket. Harry took it with a secret smug smile.

 

“I meant more the fact you forgot to tell me where you were going this morning.” Louis chastised.

 

Harry smiled plastically.

 

“Thought ye were watchin’ me.”

 

“There was an issue at the gate that I had to see to,” he murmured.  “You’re not usually up this early.”

 

Harry shrugged.

 

“I’m safe at home, right?”

 

Louis’ hesitance in affirming the statement had Harry uncovering himself to point an accusing finger.

 

“Ye told me I'm safe,” he accused.

 

“With me,” Louis promised, his lashes hitting his cheeks as he blinked; thick and pretty and dark around his intense blue eyes.

 

“Maybe I dunnae want to be wi' ye,” Harry parroted.  “Maybe I dunnae like ye. “

 

Something flittered across Louis' features; disappearing as quickly as it had come. Harry wondered if he’d been told the same thing before.

 

He sounded incredibly measured when he replied.

 

“You don’t have to like me,” he assured. “You just have to like yourself enough not to get killed. And that means telling me where you’re going.”

 

“Oh, aye,” Harry ran a sensuous hand over his toned belly; letting his fingertips scratch there lightly. “I’m going out tonight to find someone t’fuck me, would ye like to come?”

 

Harry felt a zap in his belly when cold blue eyes settled on his and he regretted his words instantly.

 

“What time are we leaving?” Louis asked.

 

“Be ready for midnight,” Harry instructed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Homophobia in this chapter.

Louis was ready.

 

He’d arranged for a car to take them there and back and he’d spent a good hour researching the venue and the escape points.

 

He’d had to dress up to get in- a smart navy suit teamed with dark brogues and his hair quiffed.  He knew how to play a part.

 

Harry plopped into the backseat; shaking his glossy curls out to flip them gently to one side.

 

“Ready to break tha' stick up ye ass?” Harry beamed.

 

Louis adjusted the blade tucked by his ankle and the pistol nestling against his ribs; fastening his pager to his inside pocket and slipping a wire around the back of his neck to hide it under his jacket collar, the ear-piece slipped into his ear.

 

He tested the wristband radio two-way.

 

“The Eagle is in the nest. It’s a go.”

 

Louis glanced around as the car pulled away; checking for movement on the drive as they got going. His gaze finally fell on Harry who sat with his brow arched.

 

“What?” He asked.

 

Harry quacked out a laugh, hand slapping his thigh.

 

“Why do ye call me tha’?” He wondered.

 

Louis tilted his head in bemusement, pointing to his own forearm.

 

“The tattoo,” he answered.

 

Harry brushed his hand over his kilted thigh; a handsome green and navy Montgomery design worn with dark socks and flat shoes instead of his usual work boots. He crossed his legs and leaned back into the seat to watch Louis more closely.

 

The man had beautiful lips. He had slanting cheekbones and a sharp jaw. He had thick eyelashes that swept over his cloudy sky eyes. He had an effect on Harry that he hadn’t quite put a label on and it irked him that _he_ didn't have an effect on Louis too. Harry didn’t usually have to work hard to get what he wanted.

 

“Ye could’ve picked the mermaid,” he argued languidly; pursing his lips. “She’s far prettier and looks more like me than that bird...”

 

Louis twisted a bit in his seat.

 

“I haven’t seen your mermaid,” he said.

 

Harry blinked at him; a slow, satisfied smile tugging at his full, bowed lips.

 

“Are ye askin' t'see me naked, short stuff?” He invited flirtily.

 

Louis huffed out an amused breath.

 

“Never had a client like you before,” he murmured.

 

“Aye,” Harry’s teasing smile turned into a wide grin. “I bet ye havenae.. .”

 

Louis caught his eye and couldn’t stop his own smile from blooming.

 

“I can assure you I haven’t.”

 

“What nay pompous popstars?” He fished. “What about famous Hollywood actors?”

 

Louis sobered, lips pressing together gently.

 

“I’ve worked with a few.”

 

“Ah come on, Lou-Lou,” Harry cajoled. “You cannae leave it at that! I promise I willnae tell anyone,” he lowered his voice to a soothing murmur.

 

Louis checked around them, noting their progress and relaxing when no signals flared in his senses of possible danger.

 

“I took a bullet for Brad Pitt,” Louis shared quietly as Harry kept watching him.

 

“Ye took one for me, too,” he commented with a bitter twist of his lips. “Not tha' I’ll let it happen again,”He muttered.

 

“In the chest,” Louis met his gaze before dipping his eyes to his shirt.  “Right about here,” he circled the spot with his fingertip.

 

Harry’s brows furrowed as the gravity of his confession fell around them.

 

“Ye didn’t have a bullet proof vest on?” He checked.

 

Louis shook his head, sucking in air.

 

“It was night time and I was working with another guard in shifts,” he explained. “The other guy got taken down and I ran right into the bullet. Saved Brad, though,” he smiled wanly.

 

Harry’s own heart stammered in its pattern, his breath hitching to catch up.

 

“Well thank fuck for tha',” Harry offered in a dry, acerbic tone. “I'd hate t'think ye took a bullet for nay good reason...”

 

Louis smirked.

 

“You do realise it’s my job?”

 

Harry scoffed, fingers fiddling with the hem of his kilt as he switched his gaze to the outside old the car.

 

“Nobody should have'ta die for someone else,” he commented.

 

Harry felt his hairs lifting off his skin in some kind of weird sixth sense. He glanced across the seat to check Louis was still beside him and he didn’t examine the unnerving feeling of relief when he found he was.

 

“Whassup?” He asked.

 

Louis shook his head and checked their route.

 

“Nothing. We’re nearly there,” he added.

 

“I cannae wait,” Harry told him.

 

//

 

“Aye, it’s a tiger. Thigh-ger,” Harry grinned at the rather hunky Jensen as he patiently went through Harry’s tattoos one by one.

 

Harry looked up as the taller man nudged between his knees, sliding a full shot-glass off the bar to hand to him.

 

“Cheers, Highlander,” Jensen picked up his own miniature glass to toast Harry's; swishing back the vodka.

 

Harry shook his hair out as the bitterness washed over him.

 

Jensen crowded closer, his hand sliding onto Harry’s bared thigh, his thumb pressing into the tender skin where he'd bared his tattoo.

 

“Wanna head outside, Hugo?” He invited, using the fake name Harry had given him.

 

Harry’s eyes shifted across the room to source his second skin; finding Louis stationed patiently by the dance floor and rejecting the advances of all those who approached. Harry had seen a lot of people approach.

 

He settled his hand over Jensen’s and slid it away. It didn’t feel right having people touch him while his skin was hairy; while his vision felt blurry with the drink.

 

“Maybe later,” he enunciated thickly.

 

Jensen’s hand moved back onto his skin; pushing the material of his kilt further up his thigh.

 

“C'mon, we both know you’re up for it,” he grinned, leaning close to whisper in his ear. “Pretty little slut...”

 

Harry shoved his hand away and straightened his body to stand; coming chest to chest with the man he’d spent the night flirting with.

 

“I’m not up fer anythin’ sweetheart, sorry if ye got the wrong idea...”

 

“Oh, like it rough, do you?” the sandy haired man challenged, reaching around Harry to grasp his ass through the folds of his kilt. “Like it hard

Before Harry could register movement; Jensen was being hauled away from his body and slammed against the wall by a man far smaller than him.

 

“L-Loueh-“ Harry staggered forward with a hand out to stop him.

 

“Think you’ve finished for the night don’t you?” Louis asked the taller, muscled man pinned between himself and the wall.

 

“Who the fuck are you?” Jensen accused. “He fucking wanted it, alright?”

 

Louis paused.

 

“Not alright,” he decided, yanking Jensen away from the wall to march him through the bar.

 

Jensen flailed at the demonstration; yelling loudly until a set of bouncers stopped the pair of them at the door.

 

“What’s all this lads?” One asked.

 

“Can’t take no for an answer,” Louis pushed Jensen away from himself and let go. “Scum.”

 

Jensen swivelled to reach back to land a punch; restrained by one of the bouncers who stepped in.

 

“Think you better both head out,” he suggested.

 

Louis frowned. He dipped his fingers into his slacks pocket and fished out his private security ID.

 

“Look lads, I’m one of you...”

 

“No fighting,” the first bouncer stated. “Time to leave...”

 

“But-“ Louis glanced behind him at Harry; dread swelling in his chest. “I have to stay with him,” he begged, tipping his head to signal at Harry who was standing with his arms folded and a dark look on his face.

 

“Nay can do,” the second bouncer shook his head, pointing his thumb over his shoulder. “Oot. “

 

Louis gritted his teeth and glared at the men until he realised they were serious.

 

“Fine, give me two minutes,” he sighed, twisting to talk to Harry.

 

“Aye, short stuff, how can I help ye?” He arched a brow.

 

Louis decided to let the nickname go. For now.

 

“I have to go outside,” he murmured.

 

Harry smirked.

 

“So I heard.”

 

Louis stared at him.

 

“Be careful?” He begged and the question took Harry by surprise.

 

“Ye what?”

 

Louis flicked his eyes away.

 

“I'll be right outside, here’s the panic alarm...” He pressed a heart-shaped brooch into Harry’s fingers. “Press this and I’ll be with you instantly,” he promised.

 

Harry looked at his palm and then at Louis bemusedly.

 

“I dunnae need this,” he mused.

 

Louis looked up quickly, alarmed.

 

“Harry, please,” he urged quietly.

 

“I’m coming with ye,” he added when Louis was about to take the device and pin it to his black shirt himself.

 

Louis furrowed his brows.

 

“You're not staying?”

 

Harry blinked. His chest felt tight and his heart was beating too hard in it. For a few seconds there he’d thought that maybe; just maybe Jensen wouldn’t let go.

 

Harry was a strong man but fear had  paralysed him when Jensen had grasped his ass. His skin still throbbed with the unwanted reminder of that touch. He dipped his gaze.  He'd brought the whole thing upon himself. He shouldn’t have flirted.  Shouldn’t have flicked up his kilt and invited Jensen to touch.

 

But he'd thought it would be a _nice_ touch. He’d thought they might kiss until his jaw ached and his tongue went numb with it. He thought he'd show Louis _exactly_ why he didn’t want to be followed around.

 

Only now—

 

Now as he swayed slightly in the foyer of the club that Louis was being kicked _out_ of; Harry didn’t feel much like doing any of those things.

 

He brought his gaze up off the floor and met Louis'. 

 

“I just wan’ go home,” he mumbled; slurring the words together.

 

“Hey you!” the bouncer grasped Louis' shoulder. “I thought we said _out!_ ”

 

Louis jerked away sharply to fend him off; reaching forward to curl gentle fingers around Harry’s elbow.

 

“I’m just leaving,” Louis told the bouncer as he turned to escort Harry from the bar.

 

Harry leaned toward him enough that Louis had to slide an arm around his back to support him as he walked.

 

//

 

_Fuck._

_The shooter was down._

_Crystal was screaming; bawling loudly in his ear as he cuddled her close protectively._

_“It's okay, sweetheart. The bad man won’t hurt you anymore,” Louis stalked over to check that his gun had done the required job._

_“I want my Mummy!” Came Crystal's emotional cry._

_“I know,” Louis soothed, eyes narrowing in belated recognition. “Scott?” He whispered._

_The seemingly unconscious body moved; fingers tightening around the discarded hand piece; bullet loaded and gun aimed a split second before Louis had proper grip on his._

_He span sharply; hunching over the little girl. The bullet entered by his ribcage and ripped through his body, landing in Crystal's thigh. He would never forget the sound of her squeal or the three bullets it took to down him._

_A man he had trusted implicitly.  A man who had taught him everything he knew._

_//_

Nothing felt right until every muscle in his body burned with the exertion of being worked to fatigue.

 

Louis had a work out partner in the form of Liam; the house butler who was proving to be an affable guy.

 

“Ten more,” Liam counted down his sit-ups; hands weighting down his feet.

 

Louis flopped back with harsh breaths, skin burning and arms surrendered above his head.

 

“Fuck, you’re worse than my usual trainer,” he gasped.

 

Liam smiled.

 

“Work hard, play hard,” he said.

 

Louis smirked.

 

“I had already guessed that was the house motto...”

 

“Did you tell him?” Liam asked as Louis sat up to return the favour while Liam completed his set of sit ups.

 

Louis sighed as he flicked his eyes away; toward the gym door. It was easy to forget they were still at the castle and still within hearing distance of its occupants.

 

The coast looked clear.

 

“No,” he admitted to Liam’s leading question. “He didn’t ask.”

 

Liam gave him a certain kind of look as he sat up.

 

“What _did_ you say?”

 

“That there was an issue at the gate,” Louis murmured.  “It’s not like I lied.”

 

“A crowd of protesters with placards is a bit more than an issue,” Liam mused.

 

“They’re not a threat,” Louis promised.  “And he didn’t ask,” he added once more.

 

“Quick run to finish up?” Liam suggested.

 

Louis shook his head.

 

“I’m doing another set of lats... “

 

They both got up to move to their respective machinery.

 

“Niall told me he gets scared,” Louis offered to the young butler as he settled into place. “I didn’t want to add to the pressure he’s already under.”

 

Louis began his weights; pausing when Liam’s gaze stayed in him.

 

“Niall has a big mouth,” he lamented. “But you’re probably right.”

 

Louis went back to his task knowing he was _definitely_ right. He wasn’t the best in his field for no reason.

 

//

“Tha's where ye got to,” Harry’s eyes shone with something warm as they settled on Louis on entering the gym.

 

Harry had pulled on grey jersey shorts and white trainers; chest bare and hair tied up as he taped his hands ready for a round with the sand bag.

 

“Keeping fit for you, Princess,” Louis promised.

 

Harry snorted.

 

“As ye can see I can take care o' myself...”

 

Louis’ gaze dipped to his hands.

 

“You should put gloves on,” he counselled.

 

Harry twisted his body to flick interested eyes over him; his lips curving into a playful smirk.

 

“It's cute tha' ye still think ye can tell me what t'do.”

 

Louis stood up with an eye roll and a sigh.

 

“It’s really fine. You go ahead and keep pummelling away with bare knuckles. Don’t come knocking on my door when you split one open or damage your tendons,” he accused, moving to head out of the room.

 

“I wouldnae knock on ye door if the house were on fire and ye were the only one with water,” he hurled back acerbically. “I’m goin' ta go split open my knuckles now....”

 

Louis walked out with his teeth clenched against the words he wanted to let spill hotly from his lips.

 

_Idiot. The man was an utter idiot._

If only he could explain why the image of Harry's torso- long and lean with daintily flexing muscles- was burned into the back of his eyelids.

 

Even idiots could be beautiful to look at it seemed.

 

/

 

Harry was just finishing up the last coat of his frosted winter nail varnish on his toes when his mother called him downstairs.

 

He didn’t usually spend that much time in his room but since Tomlinson had arrived he had nowhere left to hide. The man at least seemed to respect his privacy enough to leave him alone once he was safely locked away.

 

Although he _had_ looked concerned about the lock.

 

Harry sighed and carefully hobbled on his heels to the door to face his mother.

 

//

 

He startled when he found Louis standing outside his door, feet settled apart and hands clasped in front of his groin.

 

Cool blue eyes met his; void of emotion.

 

“Good afternoon, Princess,” Louis greeted.

 

Harry smirked.

 

“Who’s come t'visit?” He wondered.

 

Louis’ eyes grazed over him and Harry wondered if his grey joggers and cross-back vest emblazoned with HOT'N'HARD caught his fancy at all. He lifted a brow as Louis' gaze returned to his from his once over.

 

“What’s the matter with your hand?” He asked.

 

Harry glanced down, the bandage around his knuckles forgotten until Louis had mentioned it.

 

“Didnae wear boxing gloves,” he lamented.

 

When Louis' eyes shot back to his, there was something unreadable in the slight pinch of his lips and the tiny furrow between his brows.

 

“I see,” he murmured despite the fact it looked like wanted to say a whole lot more. “And it’s your Uncle who’s visiting;” he added.

 

Harry smiled a little froggy smile to himself as he descended the stairs with Louis in close pursuit.

 

//

 

“Uncle Steve!” Harry pushed open the parlour door widely; outstretching his arms with a winning smile.

 

The occupants of the room all looked his way; three seated and the maid, Sara attending to pouring tea.

 

Anne's gaze flicked over him with a horrified flare of her eyes.

 

“Harold, how many times must we tell you-“

 

“And you think he’s ready to inherit Montgomery?” Stephen interrupted; disapproved look swiping over Harry with a haughty arched brow. “The boy lives like a student not a Lord...”

 

Harry stepped into the room, fastening his hands behind his back as he approached his Uncle slowly. He had never liked the man and he wasn’t about to start now.

 

“Oh ye right, Uncle, I’m not a pretty little Laird,” he curled the word around his tongue to accentuate the differences in their dialect.  “But I am a man, tha's for certain...”

 

Stephen glanced to the ground.

 

“With painted toenails? Pray tell what kind of man would undertake a womanly routine such as that?”

 

Harry narrowed his eyes and stepped closer to his father's brother, body tensing with the silent accusation.

 

“And who’s this little thing?” Stephen looked past Harry deliberately to show he didn’t feel threatened.  “A boyfriend of yours or is he trying to complete a walk of shame perhaps?”

 

Harry threw his head back and laughed deep and loud, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth as he sobered.

 

“Mr. Tomlinson is a hired personal guard,” Anne supplied.

 

Harry glared at his mother and shifted his gaze back to Stephen while Louis stepped further into the room; his arm brushing Harry’s as he directed it toward the older man in greeting.

 

“Pleasure to meet you, Sir.”

 

Stephen looked at his hand and remained seated; a cool flick of his eyes to the other side of the room sealing his dismissal.

 

“This is _exactly_ what I mean Desmond. The boy- or should I say girl?- cannot even look after himself. How much is it costing to have _him_ here?” He signalled to Louis with a tip of his head while Louis straightened up and stepped back; glancing at Harry.

 

Harry had his teeth clenched and his hands fisted by his sides.

 

“Let’s go for a walk, champ,” Louis murmured.

 

Harry shot him a dark look.

 

“Not on ye life, short stuff...”

 

Louis pressed his lips together impatiently, eyes flicking around the room to search for salvation.

 

“The cost is not ye concern, brother,” Des finally spoke up as Louis twisted away from Stephen to face Harry; edging between the two men slightly. “My son's life is worth far more.”

 

“Why didnea ye shake his hand,” Harry leaned forward, into Louis' shoulder since he now acted as a silent buffer. “He’s not done anythin' to ye ..”

 

Stephen smiled wanly, brushing imaginary crumbs from his lap and gesturing Sara to take his teacup as he stood up to address Harry at the same level.

 

“You’re nothing but a spoiled little brat,” he accused sharply. “Being allowed to do what you want and wear what you want and say what you want...if you seriously expect to become Lord of the Castle then you need to start acting like it!”

 

Des stood up at the same moment Harry lurched forward, firm hands tightening around his waist to still him. He looked down in annoyance only to be reminded that Louis was there; protecting him from his very self possibly.

 

Those fingers, warm and tight on his skin were the only thing that confused him; disorientating him a moment when his temper might usually have flared.

 

“Walk,” Louis instructed, shuffling forward to force Harry back with a stubborn stumble.

 

“I think we need t’talk,” Des’s voice cut across the room to his brother. “Let’s sit in the library,” he suggested bemusedly; sending Harry a  look of disapproval.

 

Harry let out a throaty hock of frustration; twisting to fly through the door to the parlour himself and back to his room.

 

 

//

 

They went for a walk much later when Louis would have preferred to have stayed indoors since darkness always increased the risk of someone striking but he didn’t tell Harry that because he was surplus to Harry’s requirement apparently.

 

He hiked hard up a steep hill while Louis fell slightly behind; not from lack of fitness but from lack of experience on the rugged land. But he was a fighter; he relished a challenge and soon he caught up with burning lungs; finding Harry bent over and struggling for breath.

 

He slipped off his backpack to unzip the front pocket; a spare inhaler settled there.

 

“Here,” he pointed it towards Harry’s hand as he stopped behind him.

 

Harry pushed it away.

 

“I’m fine.”

 

Louis would have scoffed if he hadn’t just climbed the equivalent of Ben Nevis with no preparation. A rustling in the nearby trees had him palming his Magnum; head whipping around to catch the sounds in the undergrowth.

 

_Could be a fox or a badger. Could be a killer._

 

He flinched as cold fingers wrapped slowly around his wrist where he’d pulled his gun out of its holster to aim into the unseen darkness.

 

“It's the wind,” Harry’s deep lulling voice gentled his racing heart. “I know these mountains better than I know myself.”

 

Louis flicked his eyes around the immediate area; ears on alert. Only once he was satisfied there was no danger lurking did he settle his gun.

 

“You managed to get hit once,” Louis pointed out.

 

“Aye drag tha’ up why don’t ye,” Harry rolled his eyes, looking a bit lost now that he didn’t have Louis' wrist in his grip anymore. He tried to hide the pain he endured when he gasped in his next breath.

 

Louis rolled his eyes and dug the inhaler from his pocket where he’d shoved it in a hurry.

 

“Why _are_ you so stubborn?” He asked as he passed it to Harry.

 

Harry shrugged.

 

“Spoiled. Didnae ye hear my Uncle earlier?”

 

Louis turned away a bit as Harry administered his medication.

 

“I don’t buy it,” he decided.

 

It was a challenge and Harry twisted to look at him in surprise.

 

“Oh, aye?”

 

“Aye,” Louis murmured into the surrounding scenery.  “Spoiled kids don’t tend to hike two miles to their local store,” he mused. “Or paint their own toenails,” he added with a curve of his lips as he turned back to check on Harry.

 

Harry joined him at his viewpoint, zipping the inhaler away.

 

“I cannae imagine the reaction if I requested a beautician to the castle,” he joked, tilting his head to the side to cast his gaze downwards on the man beside him. “And isnae it possible for me to be spoiled _and_ self sufficient?”

 

Louis felt like the answer was _no._ But Harry was leading him to choose _yes._ For what reason? To mask his own motives?

 

It was possible- and not unheard of- for particularly entitled individuals to hire their own hitmen just to gain the attention they craved. Harry would almost _want_ Louis to believe he was every inch the attention-seeking only child. A man allowed to love whoever he wanted, however he wanted and as Stephen had put it- to do and say as he liked.

 

And yet Louis saw some kind of invisible chain around him. A struggle that he was keeping buried deep inside. He didn’t know if it was connected to his fear that he refused to acknowledge out loud; or if something more sinister was the cause.  But Louis saw it. The slightly sad tilt to his mouth and the emptiness in his eyes.

 

It was true he was a man capable of looking after himself but underneath the edge of that armour; Louis sensed a more vulnerable side. A side which perhaps Harry didn’t get to show as much.

 

“Ye been starin' at me for a good long minute now,” his deep voice unsettled Louis from his thoughts. “What do ye see, oh wise one?”

 

Louis didn’t let the teasing words break the heavy moment, holding Harry’s curious gaze for as long as it took him to look away, licking his lips.

 

“I see your Uncle as a problem,” he said only.

 

Harry snorted and shook his head.

 

“We’ve ne'er had a good relationship,” Harry divulged.

 

“Why not?” Louis asked.

 

“Mostly because I was a wee bit wild in my younger days,” he smiled boyishly and it flashed a pair of dimples that had Louis narrowing his gaze to focus on.  “Aye, he wasnae too happy about the girl’s clothes,” he added with a huff.

 

Louis could sense the hurt Harry carried over the rejection of his family relating to the incident but it didn’t seem the right time to pursue it and anyway he was there to find a killer, not to counsel a Laird.

 

“So he’s always expressed his dislike about your non-traditional approach?” Louis checked.

 

Harry moved to start walking back down the rocky climb, the dark making it fearful.

 

“Here,” Louis tugged a torch from his supplies to tap against Harry’s shoulder; who reached for it. For a second his fingers clutched at Louis’ and they felt cold against his skin.

 

“Thank ye.  And aye, he’s always sayin' how I shame the family name and how his son Christopher would be better placed to take the title.”

 

“Why Christopher?” Louis asked, jumping down from a shelf to secure an arm around Harry’s ribs to hook him up when his feet nearly slipped from underneath him on loose stones.

 

“I _have_ done this before,” Harry muttered; clearing his throat and finding this footing with a gruff sigh. “Ye can let go now...”

 

Louis stepped around him to go first.

 

“You can fall into me if you slide,” he said.

 

After a moment of silence where Louis wondered if Harry might physically kick him in the ass, he felt a hand grip his shoulder.

 

“Aye, I might just do that,” he teased. “Soft wee cushion you’d be, too.”

 

Louis bit back a smile.

 

“Why Christopher?” He asked again, quietly.

 

“He’s a rugby player,” Harry told him.  “Engaged to a descendent of Scottish royalty and due t'be married. Straight,” he added amusedly. “Wears the right clothes and acts like a wee lapdog. Jus’ what the hierarchy want.”

 

Louis glanced over his shoulder when Harry squeezed it; taking a big step down a particularly steep drop.

 

“You've got leadership qualities too, Harry,” he pointed out.

 

Harry huffed out a laugh.

 

“None of tha' matters with my past,” he enunciated the ‘t’ thickly as he paused at an even steeper drop.

 

Louis turned and lifted his hands.

 

“What do ye think you're gonna do, short stuff?” Harry asked drily.

 

“Help you,” Louis replied sweetly with a wan smile. “It may be a foreign concept to you but where I come from, helping each other is essential to survive.”

 

“Thought ye worked alone,” Harry murmured, still eyeing the drop carefully.

 

“I meant at home,” Louis shuffled closer; gripping around Harry’s waist. He shot a disgruntled look at Louis but he didn’t push him away. 

 

“Oh aye, who’s at home then,” he peered over the ledge where Louis stood a good foot beneath him.

 

“Siblings,” Louis answered vaguely.  “Let me take your weight,” he added softly.

 

Harry seemed to furrow his brows and pout his lips with a huff until he realised he couldn’t manage the drop alone in the dark.

 

“Fuck,” he grumbled. “I’d have just jumped and bashed my knee on the fall, usually.”

 

Louis let go of his waist and lifted his hands in surrender.

 

“Be my guest, Rambo.”

 

Harry swallowed, eyes dark in the shadows.

 

“Aye alright, ye can help me,” he beckoned him back with long fingers. “But only becau' ye like to feel needed...”

 

Louis chucked out a breath as he grasped around Harry’s waist again, bearing his weight to lift him down the foot drop.

 

Harry gripped his shoulders with a shaky sigh; fingers trembling against Louis' jacket once his feet touched ground. His eyes were closed when Louis looked up.

 

Harry snapped them open, pushing him away gently.

 

“Enough o'ye hero complex, short stuff,” he strode into the trees on the now-flatter ground.

 

Louis followed him with a smug smile.

 

//

 

 

“Nice walk, son?”

 

Des was in the hall when Harry got back, sneaking in with Louis or so he thought.

 

Harry span around to look at his Dad.

 

“Aye. Very pleasant...”

 

“Do ye have a minute?” Des asked; glancing at Louis. 

 

Harry nodded and followed him into the library.

 

//

 

Louis was busy the morning of the school visit; organising transport and orchestrating security at the venue to help ease any concerns from the Styles’ family that the hitman might target Harry while he was on a public engagement.

 

Louis felt assured that today wasn’t the day for the killer to strike but the townies picketing the driveway were an annoyance.

 

He jumped out of the car at the foot of the drive to clear the hoard  away but Harry watched solemnly through the window as each placard got taken down.

 

_We don’t want no fags_

_Gay is an abomination_

 

Harry splayed his fingers on his thighs; biting his lip in sudden regret. He shouldn’t have painted his nails. It was a subtle pearly pink that could easily be mistaken for his natural nail colour had it not shimmered when it hit the light. But it _did_ shimmer. And he’d done it partly out of anger and partly to prove a point but the bile threatening to shoot up from his stomach into his throat told him he’d made a huge mistake.

 

“Duncan, stop the car!” He called.

 

Duncan put on the brakes.  Two seconds later his two-way radio crackled.

 

“Tommo to D-Man, is there a problem?” came Louis’ harassed voice over the radio.

 

Duncan glanced in the mirror and Harry stared back, eyes wide, skin pale.

 

“The um...the _mermaid_ is drowning,” Duncan said into the mouthpiece; earning a moment of silence before Louis buzzed back in.

 

“What?” He clipped, aggrieved.

 

“You best come back to the car, boss,” Duncan decided, twisting to check on Harry.

 

“Fuck,” Harry whispered as his chest contracted in spasm painfully. He was being selfish prick again. Thinking only of himself and _his_ feelings.

 

As much as he’d like to pretend he was trying to teach the children acceptance he knew that wasn’t quite true. _He_ wanted acceptance. And he was forcing it where he felt he _deserved_ it and that was just-

 

“Fuck...”

 

It wasn’t up to him to make folk change their minds. He wanted to; dammit part of him ached to make it happen but this wasn’t the time or place.

 

The door swinging open starkly had him startled; arms lifted in defence.

 

“Shit, sorry,” Louis muttered; running around the rear end of the car to open the other door to slide in. “It’s fucking crazy out there...what’s going on in here?” He turned to look at Harry; catching his frantic breath.

 

Harry curled his fingers up into his palms.

 

“I have'ta  go back,” he stated

 

Louis looked towards Duncan.

 

“What happened?”

 

“Dunno, boss,” the driver shrugged.

 

Louis looked back to Harry.

 

“Did someone bang on the window?” He asked and Harry shook his head, glossy curls falling over his face.

 

He looked like a Scottish Prince; all done up in his formal tartan.

 

“Is it those stupid signs?” Louis sighed. “For fuck’s sake, Harry, you’re tougher than that I _know_ you are!”

 

“It's these!” He lifted his hands and turned them to show Louis the iridescent paint. “I have'ta take it off. I cannae go in there like this, can I?”

 

Louis met his bewildered gaze and held it, breathing slowly in the hope Harry’s breathing would follow suit. His eyes flicked down to look at the pretty pink shimmer coating on his fingernails before lifting back to his face; lips first and then his eyes.

 

He swallowed.

 

“You didn’t fancy the same colour as your toes then?”

 

Harry frowned, face screwing up.

 

“You dunnae get it do ye, Loueh? This isnae some silly prank, it isnae a _game._ But I’m using it as one aren't I? Do ye know how long I’ve wanted to be able to slam a big _fuck you_ to all those bigots?” He posed. “Since the day I got up on tha' table to dance,” he expressed. “But I cannae do that, I-“

 

“Why not?” Louis cut over him, scooting closer on the backseat.  “Why can’t you do it?”

 

“Becau' I’m gonna be a fuckin’ Laird!” He yelled.  “An' if I keep fuckin' things up then I'll lose everythin'.”

 

“If you keep _hiding_ then you'll lose _yourself_ ,” Louis pointed out. “I don’t see how you’re fucking up,” he added. “Unless you swear like that in front of the children...”

 

Harry’s lips lifted slightly at the corners; one hand lifting to push back his hair.

 

“Which,” he swallowed down the thickness in his throat. “...are ye supposed to say fuck, like?”

 

Louis burst into laughter; smiling as he glanced around the car. He signalled Duncan with his fingers to start moving.

 

“Right, got your diva moment done, now?” Louis teased as he settled back into the seat.

 

“Aye,” Harry murmured, sliding him an accusing squint. “And why did he call me mermaid?” He nodded at the driver.

 

Louis gave him a bemused smile.

 

“You asked me to,” he reminded gently.

 

Harry stared at him while the car made its way up the rest of the drive, Louis too distracted by the activity outside to notice.

 

//

 

“Hey, what’s your name?” Harry crouched to grin at a shy girl peeling a banana at afternoon break.

 

“Moira,” she replied sweetly. “And you’re Harreh,” she added, peeking at him hopefully to check she got his name right.

 

“Tha's me!” He beamed, settling from his crouched position into a cross- legged pose. “I like bananas too, you know.”

 

Moira nodded, tapping his knuckles with one of her small fingers.

 

“What colour is it?” She asked.

 

Harry frowned until she turned his hand right around and pointed at his thumbnail.

 

“Glistening fuschia,” he replied honestly.

 

“Mine’s _Pretty in Pink_ ,” she showcased her bubblegum tone.  “My brother, Dermot wanted to borrow it but I told him boys don’t paint their nails. You’re a boy,” she said frowning at him.

 

He smiled, tugging his kilt over his thighs after a boisterous class member ran past and skimmed his leg.

 

“Boys like to be pretty too,” he told her.

 

She hummed thoughtfully.

 

“Maybe I’ll let him borrow it then,” she decided.

 

Harry nodded and looked around for Louis while he tried to get up again. He wasn’t as young as he once was.

 

He paused as he sourced his protector; huddled up in the corner building Lego with a little boy in glasses; perhaps a member of the class who felt a little left out usually.

 

The way Louis' hands gently manoeuvred the bricks was kind of mesmerising. His soft smile and relaxed nature around the kids was something to be awed at. Harry felt awed. The man who could kill with his bare hands was perfectly natural with _children._ Who would have guessed?

 

Louis looked up suddenly as though he had momentarily forgotten he was there for another reason. Harry watched the brief flash of worry cross his face, followed by determination and finally relief when his eyes found Harry easily in the room.

 

“You OK?” Louis mouthed; holding up a partially constructed bridge while Ethan tried to fit it onto a base.

 

Harry nodded and tucked his hair behind his ear. He might be okay now; spending time with the kids in their own school but would he be okay if he was the one running the school off the land? He might not be the one teaching them but he'd be responsible for each and every child that visited and the thought of letting any one of them down set a heavy weight in his chest.

 

He stepped into the corridor to head outside for some air; checking behind him that Louis had noticed his move before he continued, strolling into the jungle themed play area with a wistful smile.

 

The much needed silence lasted for about twenty minutes before it was broken.

 

“Just who do you think you are?” Came an outraged screech; Harry twisting with a jolt as an irate woman headed for him angrily.

 

Louis looked surprised at the advance and stepped in to stop her intended route.

 

“Ma'am, if I could please ask you to step away...”

 

“Don’t you tell me to step away!” She accused, pushing against Louis to get by him. “That man! That man is telling _my_ kids it’s okay for boys to paint their nails!”

 

Harry froze.

 

Louis gently grasped the woman’s arms to hold her still.

 

“I must advise you that if you attempt to get by me again I’ll have no choice but to put you to the ground,” he warned.

 

“Tell him then!” She lifted her arm to gesticulate. “Tell him to keep his poofta ideas to himself!”

 

Louis clenched his teeth and shook his head once, turning the woman away.

 

“Right you’re leaving,” he stated; leading her into the hallway.

 

“You fags have got no right to tell my children that! Girls wear make up!” she yelled. “Not boys!”

 

Louis rolled his eyes and dialled the authorities from his mobile as he guided the woman outside one handed.

 

By the time the police arrived, Louis had lost sight of Harry.

 

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath; stalking the hallways to find him.

 

He stepped into the end classroom and stumbled to a halt. Harry was sat on one of the tiny seats; long legs crossed in front of him; his kilt lazily draped over his hairy knees. His voice was deep and methodical as he retold the story printed in the book he was reading from, until a character spoke and then he adapted his voice to fit the character. Every single small face was entranced, not one body squirming in boredom.

 

“And then the little mermaid said-“

 

The loud static of Louis' radio made everyone jump except Harry. Thirty faces looked his way and Louis felt his cheeks grow warm.

 

“Er, excuse me,” he murmured; turning outside the room to answer the radio call.

 

“That's _almost_ what mermaids sound like,” Harry told the group. “Maybe a wee bit quieter...”

 

The children’s laughter was the last thing Louis heard before he headed out to give his statement to the police.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Much later, after a few hours sulking in his room; Harry ventured out.

 

He was surprised to find an empty hallway until he got to the top of the stairs and then he saw Louis at the foot; glancing up.

 

“Ye can sit down ye know,” Harry murmured.

 

Louis followed him to the kitchen and offered to make cocoa while Harry wallowed. After a moment, Louis set something down on the table on front of him; sliding into the seat opposite.  It wasn’t his drink.

 

He picked up the small glass bottle in one hand; twisting it to see the contents. A pale turquoise liquid shimmered inside.

 

“Mermaid’s haven,” he read the label aloud, glancing up.

 

He’d gotten changed into his black penguin-print pyjama trousers and a black t-shirt and he was too emotionally drained to feel embarrassed.

 

“I took it off,” he showed Louis his now-bare nails. “Not sure turquoise will go down well...”

 

“Who said it was for you?” Louis rose to rescue the hot milk; stirring it into their cups. He carried them over with a packet of cookies.

 

“It’s not for me?” Harry pouted.

 

His hair was captured into a soft bun and Louis couldn't help smiling at him no matter how sad he looked. He reminded him of the man in the onesie asleep on Niall's sofa. The one who had clutched his top and begged him to stay.

 

“It's for _me_ ,” Louis beamed. “I want you to paint my nails.”

 

Harry stared at him blankly.

 

“What, so they can abuse ye too? I dunnae think so.”

 

Louis shrugged.

 

“I can just break their legs if they piss me off.”

 

Harry clapped out stark laughter; covering his mouth quickly with his hand as his eyes crinkled.

 

“Alright,” Harry curled his hand around the bottle and began to shake it; blowing on his drink at the same time.

 

“We'll show them,” Louis promised as he settled his hands in the table; fingers splayed.

 

“I need to come by ye,” Harry got up, scraping his chair back and re-tying his hair as he strolled around the table to pull a chair up next to Louis.

 

He reached for the bottle across the table and wedged his knees against Louis' thigh as he twisted.

 

Louis lifted his hands off the table and twisted at the waist to present them to Harry with a smirk.

 

“Aren’t ye supposed to be watching me?” Harry asked drily.

 

“I am watching you,” Louis argued.

 

Harry unscrewed the cap and carefully wiped off the excess varnish before picking up Louis’ left hand.

 

“I’ve got something you can put on that you know,” Louis whispered as Harry began to stroke the brush over his little nail.

 

“Put on what?” Harry frowned in concentration.

 

“Your knuckles,” Louis tapped the scabbed-over but still sore wound on the back of Harry’s hand.

 

“I’m fine,” he replied, tilting Louis’ hand to paint his middle nail.

 

When Louis didn’t argue with him, he looked up. Louis admired the smooth layer he’d painted on.

 

“I like it,” he assured.

 

Harry rolled his eyes. 

 

“First assassin I’ve met who likes having his nails painted...”

 

Louis’ hand slipped as he finished up his thumbnail; the brush glancing off his fingers.

 

“Shit, sorry,” Harry quickly apologised. “Did ah smudge it?”

 

Louis was staring at him, eyes wide.

 

“How did you find out?”

 

Harry frowned.

 

“Find out what?”

 

“That I...I used to...”

 

Harry’s lips fell open as sudden realisation hit him; Louis' reaction making perfect sense.

 

“Ye used to be an assassin?” He checked.

 

Louis stood up.

 

“You—wait, what?”

 

Harry gripped his wrist.

 

“I dinnea know,” he promised, then with a wry huff; “Well, I do _now_...”

 

Louis stared at him, body tense and teeth clenched hard enough for Harry to marvel at his sculptured cheekbones. He had a dirty flash in his mind; an image of Louis hollowing those cheeks as he sucked him and it was as stark as it was inappropriate.

 

He shook the image away and slid his fingers along Louis' arm to cup more gently behind his bicep.

 

“Sit down, short stuff,” he murmured.

 

Louis blinked and swallowed thickly.

 

“You’re not supposed to know.”

 

“Aye, let’s pretend I never found out,” he mused, brushing his thumb over his bicep. “C'mon...sit down.”

 

Louis sat, pulling sharp breaths into his lungs.

 

“Do ye need my inhaler?” Harry asked lightly, hand still gripping his arm.

 

Louis shook his head, gaze flitting about the room.

 

“I’ll not tell anyone,” he promised. “Ye don’t have to look so freaked out...”

 

Louis shook his head and dipped it, planting his free hand over his face.

 

“Rule number one, nobody can know,” he whispered. “The risk involved...if anyone had any idea...”

 

Harry smirked, rubbing his arm a bit before bringing his hand back to the bottle to recap the lid.

 

“I’m already a wanted man,” he reasoned. “Will ye bloody relax? Ye makin’ me feel weird...”

 

Louis glanced at him.

 

“This...I....it's not-“

 

Harry rolled his eyes and grabbed his hand, wiping off the still-wet paint on his digits.

 

“I don' fuckin' care what you did, alright?” He spoke the words so quietly that Louis nearly didn’t catch them. _Nearly_. ”We all have a past, Loueh. Mine isnae too pretty either...”

 

Louis took a deep breath and waited for his heart rhythm to settle.

 

“Alright,” he echoed, setting his hand in Harry’s when he jigged his impatiently.

 

“Unless ye want t'look silly,” Harry teased as he began his second hand.

 

//

 

Harry was still asleep when Louis came down the main stairs; unfurling a navy jumper over a pale blue shirt and his usual jeans and plimsolls.

 

A rustling noise brought his senses immediately alert; his hand resting over the Magnum settled against his hip in a low holster. He glanced up the stairs; the noise starting up again from down the hall and Louis didn’t know which way to go.

 

Liam strolled into the foyer from the front room, opening his mouth to greet him but Louis pressed an urgent finger to his lips. Liam froze in place.

 

Louis pointed up the stairs.

 

“Check Harry,” he mouthed.

 

Liam nodded and tiptoed up the carpeted steps while Louis snuck down them; hoping he’d picked the right direction to head in.

 

Drawing his gun up towards his chest he smoothly flicked the safety catch off, ear tilted to listen for movement.

 

Someone was in the library and it didn’t sound like Des. He crept up to the door and glanced in; a split second telling him what he needed to know.

 

Stephen was in the library; filtering through pages of papers. Not that unusual considering his links to the Castle but-

 

“Bit early to start filing isn’t it?” His entrance had Stephen bolting upright; relaxing soon after with a cool smile.

 

“Sorry, who are you again?”

 

Louis smiled back.

 

“Security,” he reminded. “Not sure Des would be too happy to find out a house guest has been rifling through his things...”

 

Stephen laughed without humour.

 

“I’m more than a mere guest, my boy.”

 

Louis pursed his lips.

 

“Don’t underestimate me,” Louis suggested. “You might find yourself surprised.”

 

“Is that some kind of threat?” Stephen asked; twisting to wander closer. “Just like that,” he snapped his fingers. “And you’re gone, do you understand?”

 

Louis lifted his chin.

 

“I’d work for free to keep this family safe,” he challenged.

 

“The _whole_ family?” Stephen smirked. “Or just one member of it?”

 

He brushed by Louis' arm as he left the library.

 

Louis walked over to collect the papers; checking them over for clues. Nothing seemed untoward so he set them safely in the desk drawer, heading out to find Des.

 

//

 

“I wouldnae worry yeself, Tomlinson,” Des waved a dismissive hand at his recounting of the incident with Stephen. “He’s always been a nosey bastard.”

 

Louis swallowed.

 

“Do you know what he might be looking for?”

 

“Probably property deeds for the land...” He suggested lightly. “He was talking about splitting the woods onto a different title.”

 

Louis walked closer to the desk where Des was sat.

 

“I think you should keep all of your paperwork locked away.” He instructed gently. “We can't trust anyone at this point...”

 

Des gave an incredulous chuckle.

 

“Ye don’t think my own brother has anything t'do with the gunman do ye? I thought you'd found a profile for a lone wolf; ex-military psycho and-“

 

“Morning all,” Harry strode into the library with a fixed smile that caved his dimples but didn’t reach his eyes.

 

“Good morning, son,” Des saluted from behind the desk.

 

Louis twisted.

 

“Hi,” he nodded.

 

Harry’s gaze dropped to his hands; lips twisting into a pleased smile as he noticed the varnish he'd painted on the night before was still intact.

 

“Are ye convincing Dad to join the revolution?” Harry asked him, interested.

 

Louis smile tightly, stepping back from the desk.

 

“No, I'm about to get breakfast if you're heading that way?”

 

“Well since Liam woke me up in a panic about intruders, I think I deserve a hearty porridge,” he rumbled.

 

Louis looked into his eyes to gauge the truth in his words. Liam had probably thought he was doing the right thing but the weariness in Harry's eyes suddenly gave Louis a weird twisting sensation in his belly.

 

He glanced back at Des as he followed Harry from the room; the other man waving once succinctly goodbye.

 

//

 

“Have you been targeted before?” Louis scooped up some of his scrambled egg and tried to avoid watching Harry’s body language.

 

He almost felt guilty for asking when Harry froze halfway through buttering his toast. He had his bowl of porridge in front of him; loading up on carbs, he’d said.

 

“My parents didnea tell ye?” He hedged.

 

Louis pressed his lips together with a sigh through his nose.

 

“Apparently not,” he clipped.

 

Harry sat back, nibbling on his crust.

 

“They dunnae like to speak of it. None of us do.”

 

Louis read the signs very clearly.

 

“You were hurt,” he surmised.

 

Harry’s eyes flicked to his.

 

“I was taken,” he stated.

 

_Taken?_

“No protection?” Louis checked.

 

Harry blinked.

 

“I wasnae considered important.”

 

“Did they work out a motive?”

 

“Aye, I got told it was because land was scarce so folk were fighting for rights to Lairdships but-“

 

“It was a lie,” Louis confirmed, even though he didn’t have a real motive to propose.  “How old?”

 

Harry's lashes flickered.

 

“Twelve.”

 

Louis’ lips fell open; empathy piercing his heart. He'd protected kids before, teenagers were the hardest but to be taken with no warning or inclination as to _why_ you were wanted?

 

Suddenly the picture Louis had been slowly building in his head of Harry shattered into pieces.

 

“Did they hurt you?” He asked this time; voice raspy.

 

Harry shrugged.

 

“You know how it goes.”

 

Louis had heard of all kinds of abuse- from burns to maiming to electric shock. He waited for Harry’s errant gaze to meet his; the flare of his nostrils the only sign he was reliving a very real fear. It explained the nightmares. It explained a lot else besides.

 

Harry sighed; seemingly understanding that he needed to be specific.

 

“What does it matter now?” He asked.

 

Louis wondered if he should tell Harry about what he’d found that morning; his Uncle searching for something in the family paperwork. Des had laughed him off but would Harry be so flippant? Telling him could jeopardise his relationship with his Uncle, whatever was left of it; since Harry already seemed to hold so much venom towards the man. Louis decided to keep his concerns to himself.

 

“It might not seem important,” Louis explained. “But the fact your parents didn’t tell me already makes me think it might be. “

 

Harry frowned thoughtfully at his statement.

 

“Aye, well, if we must stroll back down tha' road then maybe we can go an' check on my birds while we're at it...”

 

Louis nodded his agreement.

 

//

 

 

Harry tugged his hip flask from his sporran and tutted thickly as the woollen flap of his kilt started to unravel from where he'd pinned it with a huge stainless steel safety pin.

 

It was buckled at his waist and hip and when it had been new it had kept its shape but after several journeys up and down the side of the mountain; the fabric was starting to look tattered.

 

He rolled his eyes and let the front flap peel away while he threw his head back to enjoy a mouthful of whiskey.

 

“Wan'some?” He pointed the metal bottle towards Louis as he twisted to find the shorter man behind him.

 

Louis looked up, lips pressing together.

 

“I’m working,” he replied.

 

Harry snorted.

 

“Surely ye can have a little hootenanny?” Harry rasped the words out with particular pronunciation.

 

If Louis didn’t know better he might suspect him of already being drunk; the way his kilt was drooping and his hair looked a bit wild.

 

“No hootenannies,” Louis promised. 

 

Harry nodded and gestured to the loose end of his cloth.

 

“Aye and my kilt has been sneakin' th'drink,” Harry lamented. “All over th'bloody place she is...”

 

_She._

Louis smirked as he watched Harry try to pocket his flask in his pouch three times with a huff of annoyance.

 

“Aye, might as well finish it,” he upended the container and drained the last of it, tossing it into the trees.

 

“That's littering,” Louis chastised.

 

“Not when I own the place,” Harry smiled his frog-like smile.

 

Louis likened it to the smile he’d bared right before facing his Uncle. Maybe Harry was more uncomfortable about the kidnapping conversation than he’d realised. Watching him carefully; the way his green eyes landed on Louis and lingered with an indecipherable expression; he wondered if he should drop the topic for the night.

 

“You don’t have to tell me anything you know...”

 

Harry lifted his chin sharply from where he'd dipped it to tug helplessly at his wilting kilt.

 

“Aye, I know.”

 

Louis walked forward, lifting Harry’s hand away to survey the damage.

 

“I think the pin's got ripped out by tha' bramble back there,” Harry pointed into the brush.

 

Louis wriggled out of his backpack and got to one knee.

 

“If you make _one_ lewd comment then you’re walking home in a miniskirt,” Louis warned quietly.

 

Harry barked out his loud laugh.

 

“I’d quite like tha’! That’s an incentive not a deterrent,” he smirked.

 

Louis twisted his lips, unzipping his bag to dig to the bottom to find his miniature, emergency sewing kit.

 

When he looked back up Harry had lifted an arm above his head, palm flat against the back of it while his other hand rested on his waist and once he had Louis' attention he tipped his knee a bit and wiggled his hips.

 

“While ye doon there,” he winked; his dimples carving deeply into his face as he giggled.

 

“Fuck off,” Louis grinned; unable to hide his amusement as he glanced up.

 

Harry’s fingers slicked down the gap and flicked the fabric apart to flash his knee; tugging it up so that his thigh soon followed.

 

“Now what do ye say about my model-worthy pins, short stuff? Compared to the men you’ve fucked, how do I measure up?”

 

Louis rolled his eyes and fumbled to find the tiny safety pins in his kit; sliding on a headband torchlight to help.

 

When he went to grasp the loose fabric, Harry held it by his hip.

 

“I want'ta see this miniskirt you promised me...”

 

Louis yanked the hem of the loose wool cloth and carefully hung it in position. He ran the palm of his hand underneath it; earning a pronounced shimmer from an apparently tipsy Harry.

 

“Be gentle with me,” he murmured deeply. “I’ve not been wi' a boy like youse before...”

 

Louis stabbed him in the thigh with the sharp end of the pin just because.

 

“Ouch!” Harry jumped at the pinprick.

 

“Stand still, Princess,” Louis muttered.  “Sharp pricks around...”

 

“Aye, really sharp,” Harry echoed with a brow lift.

 

Louis did what he could with two barely fit-for-purpose pins and stood up to shoulder his bag. He met Harry’s latent blinking gaze.

 

“Nice legs by the way,” he smiled. “Ten out of ten.”

 

With that he walked towards the nests they were out there to check.

 

//

 

“Have ye ever been wi' a man who shaved?” Harry asked curiously as he followed.

 

Louis cast him a bemused look.

 

“Who hasn’t?”

 

“I mean their body,” he cleared his throat.  “Their chest or legs or...”

 

“I’m based in London,” Louis mused. “Pretty much _anything_ goes,” he added.

 

“But do ye-“

 

Louis stopped; reaching out to grasp Harry’s wrist.  His shearling coat was hanging off him slightly; his jumper wrapped over his hands.

 

Louis lifted a finger to his lips to signal Harry to shush.  A crackle sounded a few feet off; a footprint in the leaves.

 

Harry sucked in a breath unconsciously; suddenly sobering up. He squeezed his eyes shut as a roaring began in his ears; the darkness no comfort but he'd rather not see if he was due another bullet.

 

“Wait here,” he heard through the high pitched ringing now taking over the roaring noise.

 

“Please,” he whispered, hands shaking. “Please don’t leave.”

 

The words were spoken to the breeze; to the cold dark surrounding him. Harry’s breathing spiked as dark images played behind his lids; memories and distorted fragments of what he remembered versus the dreams his mind made up every time he closed his eyes.

 

He sank to his knees, cursing the quiet crunch of dry dead leaves underneath his knees. His hands lifted to cover his face.

 

“Fuck...”

 

He wasn’t sure who said it but it was bitten and stark so he curled into himself; back hunching in protection.

 

“Don’t hurt me,” he asked the night.

 

_I’m already afraid._

“Hey, it’s alright,” a hand rubbed between his shoulder blades; a body pressing into his at his side. He felt his hair get brushed away from his face; felt it get secured behind his ear. “Harry, it’s nothing okay? It’s nothing...”

 

Louis?

 

“Loueh?” He whispered, cautiously.

 

“Yeah, it’s me, Princess,” something warm was draped over his shoulders. More rubbing. “Open your eyes, it’s fine, I promise.”

 

“They lied,” he gritted his teeth; face creasing with the memory.

 

The men who had taken him. _They'd_ said it would be okay, too. They'd _promised_. How could he ever trust anyone again?

 

“I know,” Louis sighed. “There are some motherfucking assholes in this world. I hope I'm not one of them,” he added quietly, his arm staying around Harry’s waist; his fingers digging into his side in a nice way. A way Harry hadn’t felt before.

 

“I pro'ly ripped my skirt again,” he whispered.

 

He heard Louis swallow, felt fingertips curve around his.

 

“Going to look at me, Princess?”

 

Harry wiped the wetness away from his eyes and blinked; more tears filling the space he’d just cleared. He gritted his teeth to force a grimacing smile; gritting his teeth as he did so.

 

“Fuck,” he echoed.

 

“I know I’m not all that pretty to look at,” Louis joked softly beside him. “But I promise you the baby birds will be worth the effort...”

 

Harry lowered his hands and gave Louis a disgruntled frown.

 

“Ye fuckin' well are pretty, ye bastard,” he accused. “We'll have none of tha' self depreciation on my watch.”

 

Louis’ eyes went over his face.

 

“How’s your chest?”

 

Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

 

“Ah'm good,” he promised.

 

“See,” Louis' hand squeezed his side. “No baddies.”

 

“What was it?”

 

“Deer,” Louis’ lips softened into a smile. “Reminded me of you with his gangly legs...”

 

“Thought I was a ten,” Harry accused but it was soft and quiet and punctuated with another sniffle.

 

“Might even make eleven if you shave them,” he teased.

 

Harry felt something warm flush over his skin; heating his cheeks and burning his chest. It settled between his thighs and in his heart too.

 

“I'll ask ye to score me properly once I’ve done them,” he mused.

 

Louis pursed his lips, looking around for danger to distract the flirtation.

 

“Right, champ, ready to roll?”

 

Harry turned his head to look at him. Louis was the only person he knew who could switch between calling him _Princess_ and calling him _Champ_ and still manage to make him feel hopelessly endeared. His heart was hardened by mistrust and a fear of love but the man who’d been sent to ensure his heart at least kept beating was teaching him something new.

 

“Loueh,” he got up unsteadily, grasping Louis’ arms with his shaky hands. “Ye not an asshole.”

 

For a fleeting second Louis smiled at him genuinely, crinkles cornering his eyes and a light filling his eyes that he hadn’t noticed before. It was gone before Harry could work out if he was dreaming. He tugged the fleece blanket hanging from his shoulders around himself to form a cocoon.

 

“You really _are_ sick,” Louis smirked. “Let’s get you home.”

 

//

 

When Harry came down the stairs the following morning it was with the temporary guard shadowing him.

 

Eric wasn’t as personable as Louis and he _definitely_ didn’t appreciate Harry's loungewear if his once-over was anything to go by.

 

Harry didn’t feel like he was being scanned for injuries and signs of distress the way that Louis did. He felt like his black ribbed vest and pink fleece pyjama bottoms were being _judged._

But that took secondary concern to the frantic activity occurring in the hallway.

 

Des was striding to meet Louis at the door as Harry breached the top of the staircase.

 

“Did you get rid of it? Have you looked at the tapes?”

 

Louis lifted his chin to answer; his eyes automatically sweeping the area and catching Harry in his periphery. He cleared his throat and turned towards him.

 

“Good morning, Harold.”

 

Des turned too with a surprised parting of his lips that gave away his guilt.

 

“Ah, you’re up!” He swallowed and strode forth to the bottom of the stairs. “What's the plan t'day sonny?”

 

Harry looked between the two men and then at Eric.

 

“What did ye need to get rid of?” He asked only.

 

Louis glanced at Des and Harry knew in that instant that his father had asked him to cover something up. Louis had no problem in telling Harry the outright truth normally and he’d made a promise not to be the kind of asshole to pretend with him.

 

But Louis had a job to do and it wasn’t fair to conflict his loyalties. His father was paying him and his contract was paramount.

 

“Ne'er mind,” he murmured.  “Who's coming to brekkie?”

 

“Are we _actually_ permitted to enter the kitchen now?” Came Stephen’s haughty voice from the parlour as he joined them in the hall.

 

Des swung around to glare at him.

 

“Aye we just had a wee problem with the oven, brother. All is well an' good now...”

 

Stephen smiled smugly, lifting a brow as he looked to Harry.

 

“Spoiling him again, I see. The boy would do well to know the truth,” he commented; gliding past them all into the hall which led to the kitchen.

 

//

 

Harry commandeered the den.

 

Whiskey on the rocks in crystal so expensive it could pay for a hundred pairs of shoes.  He side- eyed Louis'  guarding figure by the wall; feet slightly parted, hands rested over his dick.

 

“Will ye tell me what happened?” He asked.

 

Louis glanced over; surprised to be engaged in conversation apparently.

 

Harry scooted over a bit in his blanket nest.

 

“Sit here wee Lou,” he mumbled.

 

Louis glanced at the patio doors and moved, settling beside him with a sigh.

 

“It shouldn’t be me telling you this,” he mused.

 

Harry shifted back beside him; letting their knees touch.

 

“I know,” he conceded.

 

“Fuck,” Louis hissed, running his palms over his jeaned thighs.

 

Harry let his littlest two fingers settle on the loose fabric of Louis' hoodie sleeve, slowly gathering it to grasp it lightly in his hand.

 

“I'm not spoilt,” he murmured.  “I want'a know.”

 

Louis nodded and turned to look at him; letting his sleeve remain in Harry's custody.

 

“We found a deer,” he said. “It wasn’t alive. It- its head had been removed,” he added carefully.

 

“Mountain wildcat?” Harry checked.

 

Louis shook his head.

 

“It was left to bleed out.  Somebody wanted to make a statement.”

 

“Is it still out there?” Harry’s eyes flicked to his.

 

“No, it’s gone,” Louis assured. “Des asked for it to buried.”

 

Harry was staring at him; bewildered.

 

“Who would do that?” He beseeched. “ _Why_?”

 

Louis let his hand settle over Harry’s knee.

 

“You don’t need to worry.”

 

“The fuck I don’t!” He exploded, standing up. “Next time it could be me or anyone else in the castle who happens to stand in th'wrong place!”

 

“It's not going to be you,” Louis grasped his forearms firmly. “I promised you that, now let me prove it,” he begged.

 

Harry stared at him. His hands were quivering again and he hated that he couldn’t fake courage.

 

“I already told ye that nobody is goin'ta die on my account,” he argued. “Let's not go back there again, short stuff.”

 

“Fine, but I have my theories, okay?” Louis argued. “And I would tell you if you needed to be careful,” he explained. “You tend to ignore me when I do that but,” he pursed his lips. “Princesses, what can you do with them?”

 

Harry blinked, holding his gaze.

 

“What's your theory?”

 

Louis glanced away.

 

“Ye dunnae want t'tell me,” Harry guessed.

 

“Does it make a difference?” Louis beseeched. “Does knowing make it any better?”

 

“Aye, it fuckin' does,” Harry pushed his fingers into his hair; his bicep flexing with the movement; goosebumps scattering his skin from his lack of a jumper.

 

Louis sighed and Harry watched the defeat seep into him.

 

“Sit down,” Louis instructed.

 

Harry fidgeted on his feet, chewing the inside of his cheek.

 

“Harry, please,” he asked in that same voice he had the night he’d thought Harry was going back into the club without his panic alarm.

 

Harry nodded and reached for the forest green hoodie draped over the back of the sofa; pulling it on and ordering tea from Liam when the butler knocked on the den door to check on them.

 

He lifted his feet onto the seat and folded his long legs up by his chest.

 

“I think the deer came from the protesters, not the hitman,” Louis murmured.

 

Harry slurped his tea, tucking back his hair and playing with the loose tip of his sock with his big toe where his feet were crossed over each other.

 

“Do ye think that whoever did this might be dangerous too?” He asked softly.

 

Louis looked at him.

 

“It's a possibility. “

 

Harry pinned him with his gaze.

 

“Do you think they’ll try an’ hurt me, Lou?”

 

Louis dipped his chin.

 

“I think it’s a ruse,” he admitted.

 

“To flush me out?”

 

Louis shook his head.

 

“A plot to overthrow you. Scare you off the land,” he described.

 

Harry pondered his words.

 

“Why the big fuckin' secrecy?” He huffed; unfolding his legs to slip his feet to the floor. He ran his fingers into his fringe and scratched at his scalp lightly.

 

“Harry, your father doesn’t want me to talk about this,” he shared.  “He doesn't-“ Louis paused with a wince. “Let’s just say we have different views,” he managed diplomatically.

 

Harry hadn’t seen Louis look apprehensive before.  It didn’t suit him Harry had come to know him as a man who knew what he wanted and went out and got it; not someone who worried about trivial things like people’s opinions.

 

He looked at Louis with renewed curiosity.

 

“You’re breaking my father’s rules,” he stated.

 

“Just the one,” Louis looked him in the eye.

 

“Becau’?”

 

“Because I believe that telling you is vital for the security plan to work,” he admitted. “You can’t protect yourself from an unknown threat.”

 

“They want to protect me,” Harry guessed. “They dunnae realise I’m old enough and ugly enough to take care of myself. “

 

Louis’ lips twitched.

 

“Oh aye what did I say now that caught your amusement, short stuff?”

 

“Well...we don’t allow self depreciation remember?” He flicked his eyes from his lap to Harry's face, thick lashes dark enough to make it appear as though he was wearing eye liner.

 

“Ye right, I’m not ugly,” Harry detracted with a self satisfied grin, earning laughter from Louis.


	6. Chapter 6

“They stripped me naked,” Harry’s deep, husk-rough voice sounded out while Louis had wandered to the doors to check the garden.

 

His radio feed had updated him to the fact that his specialist security team had arrived to view the CCTV footage and they were working on finding the culprit of the deer attack while Louis stabilised a very vulnerable Harry.

 

He twisted with a frown; about to ask _who_ when Harry spoke again

 

“The kidnappers.”

 

“Jesus,” Louis whispered, glancing over.

 

Harry had stretched long-ways on the sofa and after tea; had tied his hair up.

 

“They took everything away- light, noise, texture. All I had was me and the ground.”

 

“Did you get hypothermia?” Louis wondered.

 

“No,” Harry swallowed. “They asked me all these questions about my family and the inheritance. They cut my finger to get blood to blackmail my family and-“

 

Louis turned and walked over; sliding seamlessly into the seat Harry freed up by bending his knees to draw his feet off the chair.

 

“And?” He peeked at Harry.

 

He swallowed.

 

“And they killed my dog,” he whispered. “Pepper. He was a mongrel but I got him as a puppy when I was three.”

 

“Fucking bastards,” Louis muttered.  “What were their names?’

 

Harry smirked at him.

 

“They went to prison for eight years,” he shared.

 

Louis blinked.

 

“I know a lot of people,” he said only.

 

Harry paused, nostrils flaring.

 

“Ye dunnae think-“

 

“No,” Louis twisted to grasp his ankle as panic flared in his eyes. “It's not them coming back.”

 

“But how do ye know?” Harry argued.

 

“The profile doesn’t match,” Louis assured, running his thumb over the bone in his ankle.

 

“An' what does a profile actually mean?” He let the gentle pressure of Louis' fingers soothe him. “How many of these fuckin' creeps have youse caught because they fit your profile?”

 

“Nine out of ten,” Louis answered quickly, self assured.

 

Harry stared at him, blood thrumming with silent energy. Louis could feel the nervous energy coming off him in waves.

 

“You’ve caught nearly _all_ the guys that tried to kill your target?”

 

Louis smirked.

 

“Killed some, captured some and the one that escaped-“ he paused. “That's a story for another time.”

 

“What do I do now?” Harry beseeched quietly.

 

“You carry on as normal,” Louis said.

 

Harry rolled his eyes and plopped his head back against a cushion he’d wedged by the sofa arm.

 

“I thought ye might say tha’. I’ve got this horrible stuffy meeting t'go to where I have’ta talk posh and pretend I give a shit about any one of the assholes in the room...”

 

Louis flicked him a smile.

 

“You never know, you might meet the love of your life there,” he winked.

 

Harry let out an embarrassing bleat of laughter and twisted onto his side

“Fine fuckin ‘ chance o'tha’,” he murmured, then gave Louis a sharp look. “Ye are coming wi' me, aren’t ye?”

 

Louis nodded.

 

“Aye.”

 

//

 

“Stay close,” Louis told Eric quietly as he fixed his shirt sleeves underneath the cuffs of his jacket.

 

Eric lifted his brows.

 

“I'll be two hours, tops.” Louis added.

 

“I _have_ been in this business for longer than you've been alive,” Eric mused. “Run along now, Tommo.”

 

Louis gave him a long look. He didn’t trust many people now but he couldn't deny Eric's track record.

 

“Right” he conceded, turning to run down the stairs.

 

//

 

“Ah'm so fucked.”

 

Harry was laid on the grass on the back lawn under the shade of the orchard trees; his booted feet fidgeting. He was wearing a long silk dress which didn't look as out of place as it _should_ , fitting his lean figure attractively if Louis would let himself admit it.

 

“No, you’re not,” Louis promised.  “What’s the meeting about anyway?”

 

“S'like an interview for becoming a Laird,” he explained. “An' I'm goin'ta fail.”

 

Louis sighed and lowered himself to sit beside him.

 

“What just because you can't answer a few stupid, obnoxious questions?”

 

Harry patted his torso, fingers finding the bulge of the tiny front pocket in the dress where he pulled a folded-up piece of paper from.

 

“My Da give me this. I couldnae get past the first one.”

 

Louis unfolded the paper and read it carefully.

 

“Give us three clear examples of how you've helped the local community,” Louis read aloud.

 

Harry lifted his head to blink at him, frowning a bit as he sat up to unlace his boots. He slipped them off his feet and peeled off his socks to tuck inside.

 

“Aye here's all the ways I've helped,” he stacked his boots on his other side.  “Oh wait, I didnae do owt,” he derided.

 

Louis rolled his eyes and secured his knees under his arms.

 

“Think about it,” Louis coaxed. “Ever rescued a kitten from a tree or found a lost kid and took them home?”

 

Harry lowered himself back to the ground and twisted his spine to get comfortable. The hem of the dress had hitched above his knee but he didn't seem to feel the need to anchor it as it flapped in the breeze.

 

Harry's eyes slid sideways to watch Louis as he pensively bit his lip; almost wanting to cover him up as though his honour needed protecting.

 

“I'm not Superman, Lou,” he teased, quirking his brows. “Checkin' out my tens?” he added smugly.

 

Louis snapped his gaze to Harry's face.

 

“I should be gettin' my eleven today...”

 

The implication of Harry's words took a moment to infiltrate Louis' brain. He recalled their conversation and the fact he'd told Harry he'd get 11 out of 10 if he shaved his legs. Which meant—

 

Harry grinned and teased the hem of the silk dress up his newly-smooth thighs.

 

Louis wasn't shocked or dumbfounded by the revelation but he was struggling to find words.

 

“Eleven, well earned,” He husked as Harry’s lashes hovered near his cheeks as he looked down his own body toward his delicately crossed legs.

 

“Aye,” he agreed with a happy little dimpled smiled as he brushed the smooth skin together.

 

“That’s not a public service though,” Louis guided them back on track.

 

Harry laughed loudly.

 

“I disagree, short stuff.  I think my legs are definitely a public service.”

 

“The bureaucrats won't buy it,” Louis hedged. “What else you got apart from your Snow White looks?”

 

Harry stuck his tongue out.

 

“There was an avalanche off Mount Ginnie,” he pointed to the smallest of the three peaks.  “We cleared out the back rooms and set up beds...had tea and coffee and food for the injured until the emergency services could get here,” he recalled.

 

“What did you do?” Louis asked.

 

“I dug people out,” Harry shared. “Climbed up the mountain and worked my way down. Rescued a few dogs and a little goat who got stuck.”

 

Louis smiled at the image of a rugged Harry carrying a goat in his arms down the side of a mountain. He remembered how afraid Harry had been in the dark and marvelled at the strength and resilience Harry often showed despite his fear.  Certainly not traits of a spoiled brat.

 

“You must have more examples like that?” He prompted.

 

Harry tilted his head away with a swallow.

 

“Aye I might.”

 

“Gonna share?” Louis lifted a brow.

 

“Nope,” Harry popped the ‘p’.

 

Louis rolled his eyes.

 

“Typical Princess. “

 

“If ye hadnae left me with the old man this mornin' then I might be more agreeable,” Harry posed.

 

Louis shot him an amused smile.

 

“Eric is a good bodyguard,” he stated.

 

“But we've got an understanding, Lou,” his deep voice curled around his ‘R's' enticingly.

 

Louis swallowed, blue eyes meeting green. Harry pursed his lips in a little mocking kiss.

 

“Well if I'm to tell ye where I'm goin' then it's only fair that ye should do the same,” he posed, pulling his knees up and tugging the silk dress over them.

 

Louis quirked his brow wryly and his lips parted in a blinding smile.

 

“This is the only time that I'll ever admit you’ve got me, Princess,” Louis conceded easily.

 

“Aye,” Harry squinted at him. “So where did ye go?”

 

Louis' smile flickered and died out; his eyes shifting toward the castle.

 

“It's not something we can discuss here,” he murmured.

 

Harry frowned as he rolled onto his side, gentle fingers picking at the daisies to pool them by his chest.

 

“Dunnae do it again,” Harry only added firmly.

//

 

 

“Wha's my fuckin' hair doin'?” Harry strode across his bedroom to ask his best friend.

 

Niall had called late the previous night to ask if Harry needed any help getting ready and Harry had begged him to come over.

 

Jericho had greeted Harry exuberantly before settling by Louis’ feet _outside_ the room and Harry had pouted a little enviously at the dog's unashamed obedience.  He kind of knew _exactly_ how Jericho felt only he was fighting the urge unlike the gigantic animal. He might want to fling himself at Louis' feet and stick his tongue out, begging for commands but common decency didn’t allow for such dark natured urges.

 

Besides; the day he got to his knees at Louis' feet should be recorded for the fact that either the world was ending or hell had frozen over.

 

“Stand still would ya?” Niall slapped his thigh playfully and Harry halted; the thick, stiff wool of his formal kilt resting gently against his smooth skin.

 

He felt Niall's fingers dig into his fringe.

 

“What the feck?” Niall sighed impatiently as he tried to untangle the damp curls.

 

“Get me Sara!” Harry yelled.

 

Niall opened the door to call the maid in and Harry caught Louis glancing inside, one hand stroking Jerry’s head.  Harry smiled and did a jig.

 

“Do I look like a clown yet?” He asked.

 

Louis' gaze travelled upwards from his shoes to his dark socks ; over his bare, smooth knees and onto his kilted thighs. He'd picked purple plaid and teamed it with the traditional white shirt and waistcoat/ cropped jacket combination only he'd asked the tailor to fashion his jacket from a deep purple velvet along with his waistcoat; a lavender tie completing his look.

 

He lifted his chin when Louis' gaze skimmed his throat and settled on his mouth. The scar he'd gotten falling face first off a mountain bike aged ten was always more prominent when he lifted his  chin up; his facial hair not growing over the scarred skin.

 

“Great outfit,” Louis complimented. “What's with the hair?”

 

Harry glared at him.

 

“Aye, it just went puffy!” He lamented with a huff. “Where’s Niall with Sara?” he tutted.

 

“And a diva is born,” Louis murmured as he twisted to place himself back outside of the room; on the edge of the proceedings.

 

“Ye might as well stand here,” Harry spoke before he got to the door. “Jerry looks sad stuck out there,” he lied.

 

The dog looked anything but sad; slumped into Louis' leg while Louis absently petted him.

 

Harry thought he probably looked like he'd touched a livewire; it was kind if how he felt; all buzzy and jagged and breathless in a bad way.

 

But looking into Louis calm blue eyes settled some of the frantic energy in his  chest. It soothed his utter panic at taking the test and somehow-he wasn’t certain how- it made his tummy feel warm in reassurance.

 

“If they don't like you, Harry, then it doesn’t matter.  Their opinion only counts for some age-old routine. Your parents still want you to run this place _your_ way; by your rules,” he reminded.

 

Harry blinked at him, not sure who his best friend was right in that moment: the crazy Irish man with the bear of a dog or a guy they were paying to watch him. He felt something steal his breath at the reminder. There was no way he could explore his attraction to the other man because they both had parts to play; both had obligations and _rules_ to follow.

 

And who said Louis liked him anyway?  He probably liked – _fuck_ , what _did_ he like?

 

Harry knotted his tie and pressed his lips together.

 

“So what was ye last boyfriend like?” He blurted, earning a startled glance from Louis.

 

“You do realise I’m not meant to talk about myself,” he deflected gently.

 

“I want t'know,” Harry sounded somewhat entitled as he responded.

 

“He was in the business,” Louis shared. “A tall guy, you know the stereotype clean-cut, smooth operator,” Louis rolled his eyes. “But he was more than that, too. He had a soft side.”

 

 _Harry_ had a soft side. Would Louis want to see that too?

 

“So what happened?” Harry pushed his fingers into his hair. “What went wrong?”

 

Louis‘ gaze turned exceptionally sad, his face tilting down to stare at the floorboards. Harry hoped to god Niall didn’t burst in before he got his reply.

 

“He died,” Louis murmured.  “It's complicated,” he added with a swallow.

 

Harry knew when to stop pushing.

 

“Nice suit by the way, short stuff,” he complimented in his softest voice.

 

Louis straightened his jacket on his arms. It was a dark grey three piece and he’d styled his hair out of his face.

 

“We kind of compliment each other,” he mused of the dark grey tone in Harry’s kilt which matched his suit.

 

“Ye know...its no’ a bad idea to go together,” he suggested.

 

Louis smiled bemusedly.

 

“We _are_ going together....”

 

“I mean let's stir the ol’ foxes up a bit,” Harry smirked. “Plus nobody needs t'know you’re security.”

 

Louis watched Harry carefully for a moment; uncertain of his motive.  Even if Louis did pose as his partner it made no sense for him to accompany him. He flicked his gaze back to Harry with a confused furrow above his brow.

 

Harry sputtered into laughter; snorting inelegantly as he pressed his hand to his chest as if to hold in his amusement.

 

“You're face jus' then!” He smiled so wide it took over his face. “Ah, wee Lou, you're so easy to tease,” he giggled,  “I had it figured that you’d have an impressive poker face in your line of work...”

 

Louis lifted a brow and swallowed thickly. He'd been told once that the way he shut off his emotions for _the job_ made him too stoic in real life; when his boyfriend at the time had wanted more from him.

 

Louis had to learn how to open up enough to gain people’s trust without letting them encroach too far into his heart. Otherwise the consequences could be fatal if he had a client who didn’t trust him enough to put their safety in his hands.

 

But Scott had been right. That reticence to open his heart completely had caused problems for them. They'd begun to drift apart; both working personal security, both carrying the burden of their work.

 

They were too alike. And then of course Scott had gone and turned renegade; tempted by a pay check from the wrong hands. And Louis had been put into the awful position of deciding who died. His client or his lover.

 

“Lou?” Harry’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts sharply. 

 

Louis cleared his throat.

 

“I’m shit at poker, me,” he forced a smile onto his too-tight lips.

 

Harry’s gaze stayed on him as he cleared his head of the past.

 

“Ready to go, Princess?”

 

Harry pursed his lips and blinked slowly; thoughts running through his mind. Louis could see the myriad of emotions but none of them lingered.

 

“Aye, ready,” he murmured and led the way out.

 

//

 

“I'm sorry Sir but ye not permitted t'come in here...”

 

Louis stared at the man in the burgundy uniform who stood between the corridor of the town hall and the room in which the meeting was taking place.

 

“I’m a private bodyguard,” he showed his ID badge insistently.  “That means I have to be within five feet of him at all times,” he explained of Harry.

 

He heard Harry huff behind him but ignored it.

 

“You can stand outside,” the attendant suggested.

 

“Listen-“ Louis paused, squinting at the front of the man’s jacket. “What _is_ your name, sorry?”

 

“Frank,” he replied.

 

“Listen, Frank. I understand you have to follow protocol but so do I and-“

 

Louis paused as he felt something brush his hand. Long fingers clasped his wrist.

 

“It’s okay, Lou,” Harry’s deep voice assured. “There’s no outside windows and there’s three Governors coming in, so...”

 

Louis glared at him.

 

“So? We can’t take any chances, Harry,” he murmured. 

 

Harry nibbled his lower lip and tugged Louis gently to one side; the smaller man standing square to face down the member of staff. He only looked away once Harry had his attention.

 

“I’ve got my pin,” his thumb brushed the brooch caringly.  “It’ll be fine,” he assured.

 

Louis felt something swell in his chest that felt a lot like the feeling he got when one of his sisters was going on a date. He didn’t want Harry to go inside not because of his physical protection but because of his vulnerability, he realised. The possibility of getting hurt when he had no hand in controlling the outcome.  And fuck it if that wasn’t breaking all the damn rules; he mused.

 

He stepped back, glancing at the attendant who peeked at him nervously.

 

_Shit._

He’d already reverted to intimidation without realising it. No wonder Harry had pulled him aside. He swallowed.

 

“I’ll check the room for bugs,” he clipped; striding forth to complete his task.

 

//

 

The Town Hall had an archive.  When Louis worked out he could access the files and still get to Harry in thirty seconds flat, he set up a rickety office chair and caught up on as much history about Montgomery as he could.

 

He’d had to slip his reading glasses on for the task and that was how Harry found him; engrossed in a microfiche slide of a newspaper article from 1912 detailing a fire that had occurred at the castle.

 

“The rugs in your room were rescued from that fire ye know,” Harry walked into the room with a confident stride.

 

Louis stood up.

 

“You should have pressed the alarm,” he accused.

 

Harry snorted.

 

“Why? Nobody was attackin' me.”

 

“You should always call me before you leave a room,” he explained.

 

“Aye an' next you'll be wantin' to follow me into the dunny,” he derided.

 

Louis looked him over.

 

“How did it go?”

 

Harry's lips tugged into a wry twist.

 

“About as well as it went for ye with my Uncle,” he mused.

 

It was a stark comparison and it surprised Louis that Harry held events so sharply in his memory. To most of his clients the fact that Stephen hadn’t received Louis well would have left their mind the second after it had occurred.

 

“That good?”

 

Harry smirked.

 

“Wanna get drunk?”

 

Louis gave him a rueful smile.

 

“Let’s find you a bar,” he offered.

 

//

 

“So what were ye looking at in the archives?” Harry tapped salt onto his wrist and lined up his tequila shot; the lime slice secured in Louis' fingers after ten minutes of persuasion.

 

_“I might need that hand to shoot...”_

_“Then hold it with ye other hand.”_

He glanced at Harry as he seemed to think about the routine before starting.  His long tongue lapped over his skin, fingers gripping the tiny glass to toss back the liquid and then Harry’s mouth was sucking on the acidic fruit before Louis could change his mind about being involved.

 

“I was trying to find out if anything significant occurred around the time you were kidnapped,” Louis explained.

 

Harry repeated the routine, one hand gripping Louis’ wrist this time when he sucked on the juice of the lime.

 

“An' did ye find anythin’?” Harry asked.

 

Louis glanced behind the bar as Harry lifted his chin to summon service. The bar keep happened to be an attractive guy; someone that Louis could easily see Harry taking home for the night with his thick muscular arms and thighs.

 

He looked away as the dark haired, tanned  man grinned with bright teeth. The room was busy but not too packed for Louis to keep tabs on the revellers. He focused his attention on the job while Harry ordered another duo of shots.

 

“Three for the price of two,” Louis heard the barman say in an accent that matched Harry's, filling a third glass. “Want me to hold the lime?”

 

“I’ve got someone to suck,” Harry told him with a bright-eyed smirk that Louis caught the tail end of; those seductive green eyes falling on him with a heavy blink. “That’s if it’s still alright wi' him?” He added at Louis’ curiosity.

 

Louis eyed the saucer containing the three lime slices and then glanced back at Harry meaningfully.

 

“Don’t stand on tradition on my account,” he murmured, blinking coolly at the barman.

 

“Oh but I’ve been tryin' t'break that cauld, hard shell o’yours all night,” Harry twisted in his seat; sensing there was a game to played.

 

The barman slid the saucer towards him.

 

“Tha's a man who’s askin' to be chased,” he winked.

 

Louis looked around the room again. No danger. He picked up a slice and looked at Harry.

 

Harry's lips quirked in the very corners, lids dropping to hang over his eyes suggestively. He reached out to twist Louis' hand so that the inside of his wrist faced upward.

 

Louis frowned a bit until he saw Harry reach for the salt.

 

_Jesus._

Nothing in Louis’ brain could stop him. It was like the ignition had exploded and the wiring in his whole body was burned out. All he could register was the warm; slightly rough wet drag of Harry's tongue over his pulse point; the way his throat bobbed as he gulped back the tequila and then the way his nose scrunched as he sucked the sour fruit; the juice trickling down Louis' fingers.

 

Before he knew what was happening Harry’s tongue was chasing the taste; flickering over the wet rivulet as Louis lost grip on the lime rind. It may have hit the floor he wasn't certain because Harry's whole mouth was surrounding two of his fingers; sucking on them and pressing the tips against the side of his cheek.

 

Before his heart could recover from the shock of stopping ; Harry drew away and merely licked his swollen, salt-sore lips with a smug smile.

 

“Aye, good suck,” Harry told him.

 

The sound of a glass shattering brought Louis back into the present sharply; fingers wrapped around the handle of his gun before his eyes surveyed the room; sourcing the party goer and the fallen drink in seconds.

 

“Relax,” Harry murmured against his ear as he stood up to lean close to him. “Let ye hair doon a bit, Loueh.”

 

Louis tried not to notice how his accent got thicker the more he drank.

 

“I’m working,” Louis reminded him quietly; a little shakily if anyone would notice.

 

“Ye didnea answer my question,” Harry added as he twisted to rest his back against the bar the same way Louis was.

 

His question? Louis rooted around in his mind for his last words before—well before blackout occurred.

 

_Research. Kidnap._

 

“I didn’t have time to focus on Montgomery,” Louis admitted.

 

Harry nodded slowly.

 

“I’ve got the keys to my Da's office you know...”

 

Louis frowned.

 

“Your Dad has another office?”

 

Harry nodded.

 

“Technically good ole Uncle Steve handles the paperwork,” he rolled his eyes.  “Dad only comes into town t'deal wi' anythin' urgent or important.”

 

It took a moment of sweeping the room to catch up.

 

“So we can break into your Uncle's office without actually breaking in?”

 

Harry laughed deep and throaty.

 

“Aye. There’s probably interns still working late,” he mused.

 

Louis glanced at him a moment too long.

 

“Drag ye mind out of th'gutter, short stuff,” Harry chastised. “I’m not fuckin' any o’them...”

 

“Let's go then,” Louis decided, pushing away from the bar and pausing to make sure Harry was moving with him before he led them out.

 

 

//

 

Clyde House shared its premises with four companies.

 

The Styles' office was on the first floor, overlooking the river and split into four corners. Nearest the window sat the desk, chair and computer system. To the left there were storage cabinets and shelves. At the back of the room where they entered there was a miniature kitchenette on one side and a casual meeting area on the right.

 

“Fuck,” Harry grumbled as he stubbed his toe on a floating stool.

 

Louis passed him his flashlight; heading for the cabinets.

 

He hadn’t opened the first drawer before a knock sounded on the door.

 

“Er, hello? Mr. Styles?”

 

Louis whipped around to face the visitor but not before Harry swung around dramatically; movement over- pronounced by his consumption of alcohol.

 

“Yes, laddie?” Harry boomed at the nervous looking teenager.

 

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” The lad put his hands up in surrender. “I was just checking it was—I thought someone had broken in you see! It was dark and—” the boy swallowed, words unspoken.

 

_Why is it dark?_

“Aye, well it’s late an' I was in a hurry,” Harry told him, walking over to light up the space.

 

The boy seemed to startle when his eyes fell on a silent but threatening Louis.

 

“Oh,” he gasped.

 

“Hi,” Louis murmured with a salute. “What's your name?”

 

“Jackson, Sir,” the boy answered. “D-do you need any help?”

 

Louis smiled politely.

 

“Think we’re almost done actually.”

 

“O-okay, I’ll just um—I’ll go and leave you to...finish,” he mumbled, turning in the doorway and shooting out into the communal hall.

 

Harry let out a drunken, snorting giggle while Louis released his breath.

 

“For fuck’s sake,” Louis muttered.  “Anyone heard of privacy?”

 

Harry pushed the door up and turned back inside; flipping out the light.

 

“What am I looking for?” He wondered.

 

Louis sighed.

 

“Deeds, plans of the land...anything that looks old or legal,” he added.

 

Harry blinked.

 

“Ye not askin' for much here are ye Lou?” He commented.

 

Louis smiled in the dark.

 

“Whatever Stephen was looking for at the house might be here. Right under his nose.” He considered.

 

Harry nodded and shuffled beside Louis to start on the other cabinet.

 

“This is actually more fun than my meetin’,” he murmured with a raspy yawn.

 

“So, what did they say?” Louis asked as he flipped through hanging dividers; sliding papers out to glance at the contents before tucking them away again.

 

“I thought I was doin' quite well until they got to the question about misdemeanours.”

 

His voice was husky with fatigue and alcohol but the room was silent save for the sounds they made and there was something inexplicably appealing about the deepness of Harry's voice against the hiss and rasp of paper moving. Louis could conjure an image of the both of them curled up on a sofa somewhere; reading their respective preferred papers. _Did Harry read the news? Or would he stick to novels?_

 

“You haven’t done anything _that_ bad,” Louis rolled his eyes. “Look at parliament-Scotland too-“ Louis added before Harry could object. “So many skeletons in their closets, it may as well be a graveyard.”

 

Harry chuckled quietly beside him.

 

“Aye well I think it’s the _closet_ that’s the problem,” he mused. “Mostly that I’m no' in it,” he murmured.

 

It wasn’t a surprise. In Louis' line of work he could easily have been picked on for being gay. There were still many professions where you were only considered to be capable because of who you were fucking. As though straight guys were any more manly.

 

And Louis had enough stereotypes to fight against with his size; he hadn’t needed any more to add to his roster.

 

“It’s about time that people realised it’s not a disease to love someone of the same sex,” he observed.

 

Harry paused his rifling.

 

“I think if I was in love it’d be easier,” he sighed. “They see me as a playboy and I havenae given them much reason not to.”

 

Louis swallowed, looking over in the dark.

 

“Maybe you can try to now? Have you ever had a relationship?”

 

Harry clapped out a stark laugh.

 

“Ne'er. “

 

Louis tilted his head curiously.

 

“None at all? Not even when you were younger?”

 

Harry felt the tension stiffen his whole body. _Aye when he was younger._ When he was a sweet, naive sixteen year old he’d thought himself to be in love with an eighteen year old boy from a school down the road.

 

They’d met each other secretly; had kissed and kissed for hours and he'd experienced his every _first_ with him. He'd given Alex his heart with wide green eyes and a hopeful smile.

 

Alex had taken it and smashed it wide open on the ground.

 

_“It's just  sex, Harry. I thought you knew that?”_

_“But I fell in love! Ye said- ye said you l-“_

_“Everyone says that,” Alex rolled his eyes and Harry reached forth to take his heart back; to covet it in his chest. “I’m leaving,” Alex  said._

_“No,” Harry’s eyes had widened. “I didnae mean it! I’ll take it back! We can jus’ be friends, please!”_

_Alex gave him a pitying look._

_“I'm going to Uni. I like girls anyway,” he added as he stepped away._

_Harry stepped forward._

_“No, ye don’t,” he challenged with tears streaming down his cheeks and thickening his throat.  “Ye said-“_

_“Just liked having it tight,” he boasted graphically.  “And you begged for it, remember? Who was I to say no?”_

Harry had learned over the years afterwards that nobody slept with someone purely from begging alone. There had to be some kind of attraction or ulterior motive and he had never worked out what Alex's motive was but he hadn’t needed to. His heart was guarded.

 

“I'm not good at relationships,” he chose to say instead of the truth.

 

Louis pulled out a piece of paper and folded it to tuck into his pocket.

 

“There’s always time to learn,” he promised. “All it takes is the right person.”

 

“Maybe I dunnae have one,” he argued. “Maybe I’m the exception,” he reasoned. “No' meant to be wi' one person.”

 

Louis paused.

 

“Polyamorous?

 

Harry choked on a laugh.

 

“Don't get kinky wi' me,” he teased. “But nay, it’s not really about wanting a free fer all...”

 

“Then what is it about?” Louis asked honestly, narrowing his lashes in a way that darkened his eyes.

 

The distinct sound of footsteps in the corridor outside had them both snapping out of the moment with a thud.

 

“Fuck,” Louis whispered, startled at the pending interruption; their secrecy about to be blown wide open.

 

The door handle twisting had Harry moving; drunken body engaging before his mind could catch up. He wrapped his arms around Louis' waist and pressed him up against the cabinet; head tilting downwards instinctively.

 

“Ha-“

 

Louis’ objection was swallowed by Harry’s mouth; tequila-heavy lips moving slowly on Louis' perfectly placed mouth; open from his intention to complain.

 

Harry growled in his throat and pressed closer, earning small hands against his shoulders; gripping or pushing him away; he wasn’t sure. The roaring in his ears was loud as the gentle thud of footsteps settled behind them; the light switch flicked on and the office doused in stark, bright light.

 

Harry flicked his tongue into Louis’ mouth in the vain hope that it was Jackson standing behind them; curiosity perhaps getting the better of him. The adrenaline coursing through Harry didn’t lessen the quiet; weak noise in Louis’ throat as Harry cupped his face in his strong hands; grooving his thumbs into the hollows of his cheeks as he led their kiss.

 

The quiet huff of unamused laughter behind them had Harry breaking away with sudden regret. _Shit_. He’d almost forgotten that he was _pretending_.

 

“Well, well, well...”

 

Harry twisted to catch his Uncle’s arched brow and crossed arms.

 

“What do we have here?”

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Homophobia in this chapter

 

“They’re _obviously_ involved...”

 

Des’s gaze travelled with the man who'd been borne of the same mother; grown up beside him but as the younger of the two; he had developed an ingrained sense of being second best.

 

Des could admit he hadn’t done much to reassure his sometimes-insecure younger sibling but that hadn’t been entirely in his control. As the first born he’d been pushed to be the top of everything he did.  He'd been passed the land his parents had inherited through the family line and he was expected to pass it to his first-born son, too.

 

Des wasn’t gifting the land to Harry out of obligation, though.  He knew his son took after him more than his brother; growing up caring for people and animals and wanting to do right in the world. Harry had far more integrity than their social circles would credit.

 

And Des felt his pain. The pain of not being able to love who he wanted, _how_ he wanted. He didn’t know why Harry hadn’t found his match yet, but he was assured it would happen.

 

“Ye saw them kissin'?” Des asked.

 

Stephen span around to stare at him.

 

“More than that!” He lifted his hands in emphasis. “He has to go!”

 

Des snorted.

 

“I’m no' kicking my son out fer kissing a boy,” he mused.

 

“I meant _Tomlinson_ ,” Stephen sighed. “He’s got a conflict of interests. How can he protect Harry if he's-“

 

Stephen shuddered and Des swallowed heavily with a nod.

 

“Let me talk to him.”

 

Stephen rolled his eyes.

 

“He needs to leave,” he instructed. “Tonight. “

 

With that he marched out of the room.

 

//

 

 

Louis was in his room quietly packing his case when a knock sounded on his door. He looked up with a frown, knowing it wasn’t Harry on the other side.

 

“Come in,” he called.

 

Eric was watching Harry. He didn’t want to remember how it had all shook out after Stephen had caught them mid-kiss but if he was being honest with himself, that was more to do with the fact he'd lost himself for a moment, there. A _few_ moments even. From the moment that Harry’s mouth had taken his until the interruption had broken them apart, in fact.

 

Louis had never been kissed like that before. With firm thumbs bruising his skin and a slow curling tongue lathing his; igniting every nerve ending his body possessed; apparently. Louis wasn’t sure they had all died down just yet.

 

“Oh,” Liam’s soft, surprised voice brought him into the present. “You’re leaving...”

 

Louis nodded.

 

“I'd like to say I'll stay in touch but-“

 

Liam frowned, moving into the room.

 

“But...Des sent me to get you,” he relayed. “He’s in the library now...”

 

Louis grimaced.

 

“Probably just the handover process,” he sighed. He was a pro at it by now.

 

He couldn’t say he had ever been kicked off a job for _kissing_ his client but there was always a first for everything and actually; if that kiss was his downfall then he’d happily take it. Because it didn’t matter if he never kissed Harry again; if his _fake_ kisses were that good then what were his _real_ ones like?

 

 _Liar,_ his heart whispered. _It does matter._

Liam's hand curving over his shoulder grounded him once more.

 

“Come on,” he murmured.

 

//

 

Harry was flopped sideways in one of the upholstered chairs when Louis came into the room.

 

A white lollipop stick was pinched between his forefinger and thumb, his other arm arched over his head where his fingers played with the ends of his hair; tugging them out of his bun.

 

He was wearing striped sports trousers and a slouch t-shirt and he smiled with bright red lips as Louis glanced at him.

 

“Mornin', short stuff...” Harry greeted with a smooth voice.

 

Des cleared his throat.

 

“That’s enough, Harry.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes and stuck his lollipop in his mouth.

 

Louis proceeded towards the desk Des was sat at when he beckoned him in.

 

“Now,” he murmured.  “Harry's told me his version of last night's events,” Des explained.

 

Louis twisted to flick Harry a questioning look. Harry winked.

 

“He assures me this is all his doing and that you weren’t involved other than to the necessary point of accompanying him to fulfill your contract..”

 

Louis frowned.

 

“But, Sir-“

 

“I’m not an idiot,” Des sighed. “But on this occasion I’m willing to let it go. On _this_ occasion only.”

 

Louis looked back at Harry again, only to find him sucking on his lolly with an arched brow; legs swinging languidly before him. _Maybe he really was spoiled._

 

“But Sir, I already received my instructions to leave,” Louis piped up; focusing on the older Styles man.

 

Des gave him a bemused look.

 

“I beg yer pardon?”

 

He rolled his r's the same way Harry did Louis realised.

 

“Last night,” he explained. “After Harry had gone to bed, your brother called me into the parlour and told me to leave.”

 

Des stayed quiet for a moment; defiance lining his features.

 

“Am I not the one paying yer wages, young Louis?”

 

“He said that you were too angry to look at me,” Louis added quietly. “He said it best I leave before morning.”

 

“You’re a bit late,” Harry’s deep voice pointed out, startling Louis; for he had gotten out of his seat to hover behind him.

 

Louis sighed.

 

“Yes, well, I saw Sara on the way back from the parlour and her mother had been taken ill so I offered to drive her home and said I'd explain this morning before I left,” he muttered the words out quickly, avoiding looking Harry in the eye.

 

“Good job ye ne'er went then,” Harry intoned.

 

Louis looked at Des.

 

“Are you sure you want me to stay?”

 

“My son is a renowned tease, Mr. Tomlinson,” he mused. “I doubt you had much of a part to play in this so-called “kiss”.”

 

Louis twisted a bit to his right to look at Harry once more, only his profile visible as the other man kept his face level with his father. _Had_ it been a ruse? Did Harry often kiss men for the fun of It? For no reason other than to tempt them; to lead them on?

 

The local newspaper articles detailing his antics would have Louis believing Des's words. His _instinct_ told him that sentiment was way off. But then Harry had admitted it himself. He didn’t know _how_ to be in a relationship.

 

Louis looked back at the older man. His job now relied upon his own professional integrity and whether he could continue to protect Harry with that kiss hanging over them. Harry had orchestrated the meeting with his father to ensure a positive outcome for Louis. They both knew that Louis- even for fleeting seconds- had kissed him back.

 

And yet he wanted to keep Louis around. After everything he'd ever been told about not being the right body type to be a protector; Louis suddenly felt a rush of pride. _Harry felt safe with him_. He couldn’t let him down now. But he would have to watch himself; get himself in check and ensure he didn’t cross the line in any way.

 

He gave Des an unwavering look.

 

“I’ll unpack my case,” he affirmed before turning to go.

 

//

 

_The table was rickety as he climbed up onto it; a sea of faces around him merging into blurred features as the alcohol laced his veins._

_He performed a clumsy pirouette then snaked his body in time with the music._

_His hand brushed over the fabric of the dress; clasping into the folds of the skirt to swish it around his thighs._

_“You look great up there!” Conor yelled, smoothing his hand over Harry's calf, onto his thigh._

_“M'not tha' kind o'boy,” he winked._

_Conor laughed and Teagan pressed into Conor’s back._

_“Take us both home!” She giggled. “I want my dress back!”_

_Harry grinned and span. The room went fuzzy and he couldn’t tell when the music stopped but it felt like a snap of the fingers._

_He fell into the back of a taxi, Teagan straddling his lap to kiss him as though they hadn’t let up from doing so before that._

_He cupped her face to kiss her back; Conor’s hand wrapping around his thigh._

_“Save some for me, Hersh,” he murmured against Harry’s ear. The backs of Conor’s fingers dragged over his skirted lap._

_“Let's find a hotel,” Harry suggested._

_//_

 

“Oh, you’re still here...”

 

Louis looked up from his laptop; glasses in place to aid his reading. Stephen obviously hadn’t seen Harry sitting in the corner of the parlour, reading a fashion magasine, because he startled when Harry replied with;

 

“Aye, he’s still here.”

 

Louis shut his laptop gently.

 

“Mr. Styles has asked me to stay,” Louis confirmed.

 

“Which one?” Stephen enquired. “Oh wait that’s right, the one you’re _involved_ with...”

 

Harry got up out of his chair faster than Louis had ever seen him move before that, standing chest to chest with his Uncle.

 

“You've no right to dismiss employees from our house,” he said; and Louis felt something like excitement skirt over his skin.

 

He’d seen Harry angry; mostly at _him_ for being there but not like this; not enough to throw down his beloved magasine; nostrils flaring in annoyance.

 

“I have every right,” Stephen answered coolly. “When the employment terms are compromised by a conflict of interests...”

 

“It wasnae a real kiss,” Harry narrowed his eyes at the man. “Not that ye deserve t'know but I’ll not have ye speaking bad of Loueh.”

 

“No, I bet you won’t,” Stephen mused, stepping away from Harry’s looming figure slightly.

 

“I thought it was the _hitman_ ,” Harry enunciated.

 

“Great defence,” his Uncle rolled his eyes. “With your entire back to the so-called killer and Louis shall we say _otherwise engaged_...”

 

Harry’s eyes flashed and he went to move back into Stephen's space but Louis glided across the room to press a hand against his chest; firmly enough to move him back. Harry grunted and hocked in his throat.

 

“Not worth it,” Louis promised.

 

“Aye nothin' ever changes,” Harry glared over Louis' shoulder. “I’m always doin' somethin' wrong no matter wha’.”

 

Stephen lifted his chin with a smug smile.

 

“We're having a meeting this afternoon with McInsters Attractions,” he boasted. “Your father is very interested in the development potential for the back fields. They’re looking for a nice spot to put a luxury golf course...”

 

Harry pressed forward against Louis’ restraint; forcing the smaller man to grip both of his arms and use some of his training to force him back.

 

Harry’s lip curled in a snarl.

 

“Ye not buildin' any fuckin' course on them fields,” he argued. “It's goin’ta be a rescue farm. There’s room for a paddock out there.”

 

“There’s room for eighteen holes,” Stephen mused. “The meeting is at four if you wish to attend...” He added before sweeping out of the room.

 

“Only to burn ye alive,” Harry muttered to himself.

 

Louis relaxed some of the tension in his body, Harry falling forward slightly with his motion.

 

“Sorry,” Harry murmured quietly, tugging his stretched-out black jumper over his hips. He was wearing another well-worn kilt today; a black one that Louis hadn’t seen before.

 

“Are we in mourning?” He asked.

 

Harry huffed out a breath; chest heaving from his previous distress.

 

“Aye, I’m mourning the day that man was born,” he rolled the ‘r’ in the way Louis was becoming fond of.

 

Louis gave him a reprimanding look, but it was weakened by the curves in the corners of his mouth and the crinkling of the skin by his eyes.

 

“When did he start to show his disapproval?” Louis enquired as Harry looked at him properly for the first time. His furrowed brows and tight mouth seemed to soften a little.

 

“When I first told my family I was gay,” he shared.

 

“He was the first to know?”

 

Harry chuckled.

 

“Fuck, nay.  I got my extended family together you know...grandparents, cousins, whoever. I knew that a headline was going out in the Scottish press,” he mused. “No' just about the dress,” he added.

 

Louis swallowed, watching Harry turn and trudge away from him; sinking back into his favoured chair.

 

“Oh?” He tried to keep his tone light and curious, but he already knew what the headline had claimed.

 

“I went home with two people that night,” he admitted. “A guy and a girl. I thought it was girls that usually kiss and tell,” he sighed. “Turns out I was wrong.”

 

Louis stared at him until he looked up. His green eyes were full of warring emotions; half of him defiant and unashamed. The other half was harder to place.

 

“After that my credibility took a hammerin’,” he shared. “Christopher turned into the focus for the community and my Dad came under pressure from the government. They wanted me t'be formally disowned.”

 

“But your father refused,” Louis bolstered. “In the face of everything and even now, he wants you to fight for what’s rightfully yours. Everyone makes mistakes, Harry.”

 

“Then why is he having this meetin’?” Harry gestured with his hand. “It doesnae make any sense...”

 

Louis wandered closer and smoothed a hand over Harry’s upper arm; thumb brushing over his bicep.

 

“I’m beginning to think we shouldn’t put much importance on what your Uncle has to say,” he observed.

 

Harry looked up with a swallow.

 

“Aye. Thank you,” he added softly, like he was shy to say it.

 

The strong buzzing of his cell-phone had Louis glancing around.

 

“Tommo,” he answered the call brusquely. “Okay...mmhmm, alright. I’ll call you back.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes.

 

“Not for my ears,” he derided of Louis’ conversation. “I’m going to the gym for a wee while,” he added as he stood up and Louis followed him slowly down the halls until he was satisfied Harry was safe and alone in the gym before dialling his contact back.

 

//

 

“Are you _absolutely_ sure?

 

“All the info is here, Tommo,” Zayn confirmed. “Been through it all twice.  The name of the source is Stefan Miller,” he repeated.

 

Louis felt his stomach sink towards his feet.

 

“Alright I’ll check that out,” he confirmed with a steady voice, ending the call.

 

Only he didn’t need to check out the name at all because it was already familiar to him and he was waiting for his friend at the Police HQ to get back to him about the true identity.

 

Stefan Miller was named on the letter he’d found in Des's office and now something seemed to click into place.

 

The letter had been an invitation to an open day at McInsters show site in Surrey; their most lavish golf and Spa retreat to date.

 

And Louis now wondered if Stefan Miller and Stephen Styles weren’t one and the same.

 

//

 

“Tommo, we need you outside,” Liam called across the patio to where Louis stood watching over Harry as he napped in the late sun on a lounger by the pool.

 

Louis moved forward instantly with a frown.

 

“Get Harry inside,” he instructed.

 

Louis didn’t wait for an explanation as he took off at a run around the side of the building.

 

On the drive he found Niall of all people; wrestling with a larger, belligerent man.

 

“Lemme at that pansy bastard!” The big man yelled. “I’ll break his fucking painted fingers I tell ya!”

 

Jerry jumped up to defend Niall with a ferocious bark as Louis pelted down the pebbled drive to launch himself into the thick of it.

 

“Niall, get back!” He commanded, taking a running kick- jump at the threat; sending the bulky man flying backwards.

 

“You wee runt!” The man growled; grasping Louis by the front of his military jacket and yanking hard enough to rip the seams. “That Princess best come out here so we can have it out like _men_ ,” he grappled Louis to the ground, punching him in the face twice in quick succession; a boxing move Louis had once been taught and rarely had the need to use.

 

He was ready to fight, squirming out of the man's grip and flipping up to get his footing. Once he was upright he executed a roundhouse kick to topple the man to the ground; reaching into his holster for his gun. He pushed the sole of his foot against the man’s chest and focused the gun as he released the safety catch.

 

“I suggest you calm down,” Louis told him; hair messed and a bit breathless from the scuffle.

 

He felt something trickle down his chin and lifted a hand to wipe it away; blood smearing over his skin.

 

“Aye just resort to shootin’ me why dun'ye,” the man argued, hands reluctantly lifting in surrender. “That scumbag is goin' around tellin' boys it’s ok to be sissy!”

 

Louis cocked a brow, flashing the man his chipped turquoise nails.

 

“I’d watch who you were calling sissy if I was you...”

 

“Aye, fight me without the gun,” he challenged.

 

“It wouldn’t be fair on _you_ ,” Louis smirked.

 

He looked over his shoulder for Niall.

 

“Did you call the police?” He checked as Niall came back down from the house.

 

Jerry bounded up and took a threatening stance over the man Louis had pinned to the ground.

 

“Yeah, they’re on the way,” Niall promised. “Had to stop Harry from coming out,” he added.

 

“How did this hooligan get inside the gate?” Louis checked; eyes flicking around the perimeter for possible breaches.

 

“He rushed up behind me when Liam buzzed me through,” Niall said. “Tosser. “

 

“You like having these pansies for mates do ya, Irish?” The man rolled to the side and Louis got to his knees to hold him down more firmly.

 

He went to his holster, pulling out a nylon loop which he expertly tightened around the man’s wrists among his flailing arms once the pistol was aimed away.

 

“Still think I'm a runt?” Louis murmured, cheek aching from the blow he had taken when the man had got him to the ground.

 

“Think yer a _princess_ ,” he hissed.

 

The sound of sirens steadily progressed, a patrol car pulling up with two officers rushing to control the scene.

 

One took Louis down with a heavy thump; winding him momentarily.

 

“What the fuck?” He shoved at the man; earning a firm thud of his body against the gravel drive.

 

“Dunnae move until we tell ye,” the Officer instructed, pulling the magnum from his holster.

 

Louis’ eyes flared.

 

“I'm a personal bodyguard you moron! I called it in weeks ago!”

 

“We’ve had a report that you’ve been using your weapon outside of the licence allowances,” the Officer said. “We have to take ye in fer some questioning...”

 

“You can’t arrest me without evidence!” Louis argued, throwing a beseeching look to Niall.

 

“Graham, can’t we talk about this inside?” Niall suggested.

 

The Officer leaned back on his haunches and gave out a smirk.

 

“Gotcha,” he winked with a grin; climbing off of Louis to shake hands with Niall. “Thought your new friend could use hazing,” he added with a glance at Louis.

 

Louis rolled up with a wince, curling a hand around his ribs.

 

“Think you cracked a bone,” he complained.

 

“What’s goin’ on?”

 

The voice was deep and demanding and Louis looked upwards to see Harry striding down the drive in a pair of black jeans that he'd never seen him wear before. He had flip flops on his feet and a t-shirt that bared his belly button when he lifted an arm to push back his fringe.

 

“Hazza!” Graham beamed, moving to hug Harry and ruffle his hair. “We almost put yer bodyguard in a squad car,” he laughed.

 

Harry frowned but didn’t linger in the hug, instead shifting towards Louis' still-grounded form.

 

“What happened?” He got to one knee to ask; flipping his hair to the side with long fingers. “Are ye alright?”

 

Louis huffed, grimacing as his side twinged.

 

“Think your friend did some damage when he rugby-tackled me to the ground,” Louis mused.

 

“Aye, he used to play for the Uni team,” Harry looked over his shoulder. “Ye tackled the wrong guy,” he accused softly.

 

Graham smiled sheepishly.

 

“Oops?”

 

Harry helped Louis get to his feet.

 

“You’re supposed to be inside,” Louis chastised as Harry's arm looped around his back

 

“Aye an' you’re supposed to be takin' it easy,” he mused.

 

Jerry ran up beside Harry’s thigh.

 

“Not now, Jericho...”

 

“He doesn’t answer to that anymore,” Niall called as he jogged to catch them up. “Since Louis started calling him Jerry.”

 

Louis smirked, hissing as his rib stretched a bit too far.

 

“Almost there, Lou,” Harry soothed as Louis slid his arm around Harry’s waist to strengthen the framework of their bodies.

 

“Graham thinks you make a nice couple by the way,” Niall carried on nonchalantly.

 

“What?” Harry twisted with furrowed brows.

 

Niall smiled innocently.

 

“He thought you two were…you know,” he winked.

 

Harry looked away from his friend while Louis tried to form a response.

 

“We’re not,” Louis supplied quickly, quietly; still smarting over the fact that Graham had taken him down when he’d been wholly unprepared for it.

 

“Told him that,” Niall assured. “Didn’t believe me...”

 

“Dare I ask why not?” Harry asked drily as they got inside, leading Louis to the downstairs bathroom.

 

“Said something about you know who really cares about you when you’re hurt,” he mumbled.  “Dunno.”

 

Harry glanced at Louis furtively as he shuffled him into the room.

 

“Niall, can ye give us five?” Harry asked as he went to close the bathroom door.

 

“Oh. Oh sure,” he nodded, instructing Jerry to stay.

 

//

 

Louis reached upwards to open the bathroom cabinet to find disinfectant

 

“Hey, lemme do tha',” Harry insisted.

 

Louis turned around and rolled his eyes. He sat on the toilet seat anyway.

 

Harry pulled out some cotton wool and disinfectant, running the hot tap until it felt tepid.  He dunked the cotton wool in ointment and squeezed it out, gentle fingers lifting Louis’ chin to survey his cut lip.

 

“How many times did he hit ye?”

 

Louis blinked.

 

“Twice.”

 

Harry frowned, thumb running under his tender cheekbone.

 

“Here?”

 

Louis let out a breath.

 

“I’ve endured worse. “

 

Harry’s eyes flicked to his.

 

“Why do ye do that?” He wondered.

 

“Do what?”

 

“Act like ye felt nothing...”

 

Louis twisted his lips.

 

“Because you’ll blame yourself if I admit it,” he countered honestly.

 

Harry’s breath caught in his throat.

 

“Aye because it _is_ my fault,” he acknowledged.

 

He pressed his thumb against Louis' lower lip lightly to get him to open his mouth while he cleaned the cut.

 

“What, it’s your fault that someone wants you dead?” He challenged.

 

Harry gave him a sobered look.

 

“Those bigots have nothin' t'do wi' the hitman,” Harry explained. “They’re here because they dunnae want a Laird who likes dick,” he mused.

 

Louis’ lips twitched.

 

“Likes _to_ dick or _be_ dicked?” He asked jokingly with a flash of a smile when Harry met his gaze after cleaning his lip.

 

“What do ye think?” Harry turned the question around.

 

Louis swallowed. Harry wondered if he’d answer the question or duck out of it since they were both on thin ice when it came to the professional boundaries of their relationship.

 

“ _Be_ dicked,” he selected with a nervous breath.

 

Harry smirked, curled lashes hitting his cheeks which suddenly felt warm.

 

“Easy guess, short stuff,” he quickly dismissed. “Right, shirt off please...”

 

Louis opened his mouth.

 

“What?”

 

“I need to see your ribs...”

 

Louis huffed.

 

“No, you don’t. They’re bruised, they don’t need cleaning. I have a healing lotion in my room, I'll-“

 

“M'no' gonna hassle ye,” he promised with a warmth in his eyes that Louis couldn’t look away from. “But I cannae let ye go without seein' for myself that you're alright.”

 

Louis sighed.

 

“If this is some elaborate ruse just to see me without my top on, then...”

 

“Then ye should be flattered,” Harry finished for him, gentle fingers peeling off the t-shirt from under the military shirt Louis had just wriggled out of.

 

Perhaps what surprised Harry the most was how tanned Louis’ skin was considering he barely seemed to remove his clothes and then his eyes moved over his gorgeous, perfectly formed torso with reverent slowness.

 

“Aye, I see what ye hiding,” his voice felt thick with the want that pulsed through him from just _looking_.

 

Louis had deep hollows in his collarbones which could nearly be described as dainty; the same descriptive reference applicable to his petite size but he was wiry and strong; had wide shoulders and a broad back and a muscled chest with a smooth softness around his belly and sides.

 

Harry didn’t doubt his ability to protect him but the almost neat, circular scar just right of his heart had him remembering just how very vulnerable Louis was while the hitman remained at large.

 

He couldn’t help the urge his fingertips had to trace the surface; testing its smoothness against the rest of his skin. He had a little patch of chest hair which Harry might enjoy rubbing his cheek against. _Might_ if there was a viable option.

 

“Wear your protective vest,” he whispered. “Please?” He added as he flicked his eyes upwards.

 

Louis nodded, reaching out to grasp Harry's wrist.

 

“The guy I told you about who died?” He managed on a whisper.

 

Harry nodded.

 

“He was my boyfriend,” Louis admitted. “Taught me the job as my mentor and we fell in love, but he turned against us,” he shared. “He died because I shot him to protect my client.”

 

Harry felt his heart spasm in his chest. _Fuck_. If anyone had a myriad of regret shadowing them, then it was Louis.

 

“I’m so sorry, Lou.”

 

The word _sorry_ still sounded foreign and yet Louis loved to hear it. 

 

“That's how far I’m willing to go to keep you safe,” he promised.

 

“That’s what worries me,” Harry cupped his face with a sad smile.

 

He watched as Louis swallowed again.

 

“Thought you were fixing my ribs,” he teased.

 

“Aye, yes, Sir,” he laughed quietly.

 

Harry let his hand slip away and twisted his lips. If he wasn’t aware of these things; he might just think that Louis was a bit uncomfortable with being topless and wanted to get dressed as soon as possible; but as reluctant as Louis had been to show Harry his body; he knew that his rebuff was more to do with their kiss.

 

Maybe Harry had- _somewhere deep down_ \- hoped that he and Louis might soften the edges of their relationship after that. He thought that maybe, just maybe, the flicker of whatever Louis had felt that had made him respond for those brief; infinite seconds would burgeon.

 

But Louis’ avoidance of meeting his eyes and his awkward fidgeting told him far more than he ever needed to hear in words. Louis hadn’t felt the way about that kiss that Harry had. He didn’t want to blur the lines. And Harry couldn’t help the way his chest smarted painfully at the thought of being rejected by the only person he had ever felt a true connection with.

 

“I need t’get some ice,” he said, backing away out of the bathroom to fetch it.

 

He needed ice for Louis and to gather his wits; he mused.

 

 

//

 

“Guess what?” Robin strode into the gymnasium with a sheet of unfolded textured paper,  his formal suit standing out in the midst of Harry's yoga session in soft grey leggings and a thin black t-shirt that clung to his muscular upper body.

 

Louis had surprisingly been game for the session, his jogging pants and vest earning furtive glances from Harry as they stretched, his eyes lingering on his arms.

 

“Wha’?” Harry asked his dad as he pressed his hands together prayer style and bowed to Louis.

 

Des flapped the paper.

 

“They want to host an archery competition on the grounds,” he grinned.

 

Harry flicked Louis a questioning look. Louis shrugged, combing his sweaty fringe away from his forehead.

 

“Who?” He queried.

 

“The Governor!” Des enthused. “This is incredible news!”

 

Harry nearly choked, squeezing his bun in one hand and tucking his foot behind his ankle.

 

“Are ye sure nobody faked tha’?” He checked bemusedly of the letter.

 

Des smiled patiently.

 

“I called them to check,” he promised.

 

Harry looked at Louis again; for longer than was probably necessary but his hair was in messy, fingered tufts and his lashes looked extra dark.

 

“Sounds like you were a hit with the council after all,” Louis rested his hands on his waist.

 

“Ye really think this is about them changing their minds?” He scoffed.

 

Des lifted the page, slipping his spectacles from the top of his head to the bridge of his nose.

 

“The High Governor of Renfrewshire hereby formally requests an audience with The Much Honoured Harry Styles of Montgomery,” Des narrated ”Apparently they want’a use the back field for shootin' cross bows and they’d like ye to show a few of the townies how to be a Mountain Man...”

 

Harry snorted.

 

“I wouldnae know, I’m a spoiled Princess.”

 

Des glanced at Louis.

 

“Is it feasible?”

 

Louis twisted his lips. _Not ideal. But he'd dealt with worse._

“My job is to make you safe,” he reminded. “Not to restrict you.”

 

“Tha's not what most bodyguards say,” Harry mused, twisting to peer at him.

 

Louis flicked his eyes to Harry.

 

“Most bodyguards aren’t as good as me.”

 

It should have got his back up; the arrogance. But something about Louis’ assuredness warmed his skin in an entirely different way. He felt that heat pool in his lower belly.

 

“Aye let’s not start that again,” he mused with a rasp in his deep, thick voice.

 

Louis smirked.

 

“When is it?” He turned his attention back to Des, whose gaze flickered between them both assessingly.

 

“This coming Saturday. Is it enough time Louis?”

 

Louis nodded.

 

“Dad, by the way,” Harry called his father back as he went to leave. “How did the meetin’ go about the golf course?”

 

Des twisted with a puzzled look.

 

“How did ye hear about that?” Des asked.

 

“Uncle told me you were both goin‘ to a meeting,” Harry shared.

 

Des looked at him for a long moment.

 

“We’re not looking to sell the fields. I’m sure he’s just looking into the options,” Harry’s father dismissed lightly.

 

Louis huffed quietly to himself. Harry noticed but waited until his father had left before he turned to face him.

 

“Out with it, short stuff,” he encouraged.

 

“Hm?” Louis feigned ignorance.

 

Harry gave him an expectant look.

 

“Ye think I don’t know ye well enough yet to tell th' difference between ye wee yawns and that sarcastic huff ye just let out?”

 

Louis pursed his lips.

 

“Fucking poker face,” he lamented.

 

Harry reached out, gentle fingers curling around his elbow to dislodge Louis' hand from his hip while Harry searched for his bullet wound; his thumb smoothing over the healed skin when he found it.

 

“Does it still hurt?” He asked.

 

Louis shook his head.

 

“Tell me what ye were thinkin', “ Harry begged.

 

“I'm not allowed to talk about it, remember?” Louis reminded.

 

Harry stared at him.

 

“An' since when did ye start playin' by the rules?” He teased with a smirk.

 

Louis dropped his gaze and let out a resigned breath; the kind of surrender Harry had hoped for. Everyone around him might want to protect him from the truth but the only person he trusted to tell it was Louis.

 

“I took some... _ideas_ to your father,” Louis admitted, lashes hitting hit cheeks. Harry’s hand twitched to cup his cheek, but he controlled the urge by dragging back his own long hair.

 

“What ideas?” he coaxed softly.

 

“That perhaps it’s best not to trust _anyone_ right now,” Louis posed. “Even _family_ ,“ He added pointedly.

 

Harry focused on Louis sharply; hair falling slightly into his face as he let the strands go.

 

“My Uncle?” He asked.

 

Louis swallowed. It was affirmation enough.

 

Harry sucked in a slow, hitched breath and let it out.

 

“What do ye know?”

 

His question seemed to surprise his bodyguard; as though Louis had expected Harry to argue or even not believe him. _Had Louis already discussed this with his father? Had Des dismissed him?_ When Harry was in imminent danger why wouldn’t Des want to consider _every_ avenue?

 

“I think he leaked the story about you,” Louis broached.

 

Harry stepped back from where he'd crowded into Louis’ space to seek out the truth. He lowered himself to the press-bench seat while his head caught up.

 

“The guy who sold the story was the guy tha’ came home wi’ me,” he shared.

 

Louis cleared his throat and fidgeted.

 

“It’s possible he was paid,” he ventured. “I’m looking into it,” he assured.

 

Harry blinked horrified eyes at him.

 

“Ye think he set me up?”

 

“It’s a possibility,” Louis repeated gently. “Might also be complete coincidence,” he shrugged.

 

“And ye went to my father with this?” He checked.

 

“Not this theory, _exactly_ ,” Louis admitted.

 

“But he brushed ye off, didn’t he?” Harry pushed.

 

Louis didn’t answer; his silence and dark stare speaking volumes.

 

Harry sagged back, parting his thighs slightly as his legs straddled the bench.  He didn’t understand why his Uncle might do such a thing, but apparently Louis _did_. Apparently, Louis was investigating the threat against his life very thoroughly indeed.

 

When he looked at Louis he found the pretty blue gaze of his security man resting on the soft jersey clinging to his thighs.

 

“Aye, ye like my elevens dun'ye?” He winked, hoping to lighten the heavy weight hanging in the air around them.

 

“Harry...”

 

Harry looked up at him with a fortifying breath.

 

“Aye?”

 

Something flickered across Louis‘ face that looked a lot like conflict. It looked a bit painful too.

 

“I’ll do _whatever_ it takes to keep you safe,” he stated quietly with the kind of intense gaze that some men might look away from; intimidated.

 

Not Harry. He knew _exactly_ what Louis was inferring and that feeling he had been fighting from the moment that Louis had moved in washed over him again; a feeling of complete safeness that he wasn’t accustomed to. None of the men he chose to sleep with cared about his welfare in such a basic sense; none of them had the irrefutable fearlessness to keep such a promise. And yet Louis _did_. Louis who tasted hot and became weak in Harry’s arms when he’d kissed him.

 

“Lou, when I left tha’ meetin’, I wasnae expecting anyone to be invitin’ me to host a contest.” Harry lifted his chin as he voiced his concerns.

 

Louis’ eyes flicked up; narrowing into a distance that Harry couldn’t see before returning to his face. The way Louis licked his lips reminded Harry of a cat; slow and elegant.

 

“I know some people,” his voice was raspy as he spoke. “I could look into it, if you wanted.”

 

Harry’s eyes flicked to his; nostrils flaring at the insinuation. Louis could get on the inside of the council and work out their motive. _If Harry wanted._

He swallowed.

 

The certainty of Louis’ loyalty in spite of Harry's initial mistreatment of him had his heart thundering in his chest.

 

“Let the bastards try,” he decided with a determined jut of his chin. “I’m no’ goin’ anywhere,” he promised.


	8. Chapter 8

The grounds of the Castle were filled with chattering locals as Harry strode out onto the lawn in his family’s green and black tartan; his formal suit worn with traditional expertise; the plaid settled over his shoulder and offering him some comfort with its familiar weight and warmth.

 

He sucked in a nervous breath and pushed it out of his lungs; Eric hovering two steps behind him.

 

Louis had taken charge of the security at the gate; securing the perimeter around the lawn and pushing the picketers back onto the main road away from the drive; a fact which reassured Harry subconsciously but not having Louis there with him while he got ready had been difficult.

 

And he hated to admit that; even to himself. He hated to admit he needed help at all.

 

But maybe it was time to start, he mused.

 

Groups of well-wishers started to applaud as they noticed his route across the grass; the targets and cross-bows nestled by the trees. He waved at the cheering crowd; smiling impishly at first and then breaking into a grin as a group of familiar faces started to roar in boyish enthusiasm.

 

“Styles!” Graham yelled; cupping his hand beside his mouth as he flicked his sun-bleached, trimmed hair back gently.

 

Harry rolled his eyes, biting his lip against a grin as he walked towards the Police Officer.

 

“Graham!” He clapped his back as he was pulled into a rough hug. “What are ye doin’ back here? Back up for the security guys?” He wondered.

 

“Nah, I’m off duty,” his old friend winked.

 

“Jimmy,” Harry moved to hug three guys he'd met at Uni. “Mack…Pete,” he added as he went around them all.

 

“What’s all this then?” Pete pointed to Harry’s head with a bemused smile.

 

Harry lifted a hand to check; forgetting his earlier decision to French-plait his mane into a tidy, pretty braid.

 

“Aye, it’s a braid,” he answered with a quirk of his brows, twisting his lips slightly as his nostrils flared.

 

“Isnae that fur gurls?” Mack asked in his thick accent; snorting his amusement.

 

“Excuse me,” came a smooth voice as a small body cut between Harry and his old friends; Louis forcing the group to step back. “Two feet between yourself and Mr. Styles, if you don’t mind…”

 

“Who th’fuck are you?” Pete demanded belligerently as Louis moved to whisper something to Eric who began to walk towards the gate.

 

“Who’s asking?” Louis returned; flicking his gaze coolly up and down the man.

 

Pete stepped forward.

 

“Ye cannae just push us away like that. We’re his friends,” he argued.

 

“I don’t recall using force,” Louis smiled wanly, glancing at Harry who offered him a smirk. Louis’ eyes seemed to roam over his face, curiosity lighting his eyes. “Apologies if I fluffed your tie,” Louis added sweetly to his challenger.

 

Pete went to move forward again but Harry put out a hand to stop him.

 

“He’s my bodyguard,” he stated lowly; emphatic.

 

Pete looked at Harry for a long moment before glancing with distaste at Louis.

 

“Watch yourself, _Tiny_ ,” he warned. “The breeze might have you away…”

 

“Ah! Lou,” Harry grasped Louis’ shoulder to tug him back, glaring at his old friend. “I wouldnae test him if I were ye,” he suggested.

 

“He’s tougher than he looks,” Graham vouched with a nod to Louis which Louis returned.

 

Pete shrugged and stepped back, Louis mirroring him to settle behind Harry.

 

Harry peered at him carefully before returning his attention to the group.

 

“What are you boys doin’ here?” He asked. “Tryin’ to embarrass me?”

 

“Your Dad gave us a wee call,” Jimmy spoke for the first time. “Thought we’d drop by an’ give ye a bit of support.”

 

Harry pursed his lips, eyes travelling over each guy in turn.

 

“Assholes,” he accused with a deep roar as he gathered them up for a group hug.

 

“Watch mah hair!” Harry complained lightly as Mack went to ruffle it.

 

“Ah there you are!” Des’s voice cut into the reunion, bringing Harry’s attention back to the rest of the yard.

 

“Here I am,” Harry confirmed with a nod.

 

“Tomlinson,” Des acknowledged Louis beside him. “And don’t these boys look familiar?” He grinned as the three men turned towards the older Styles.

 

“Aye, lookin’ forward to the shootin’,” Mack grinned.

 

“Harry, there’s a few people I need you to meet,” Des gently curled his fingers around Harry’s arm to lead him away.

 

Stephen happened to be part of the first gathering they stopped to join.

 

“Good god, whatever happened to you?” His Uncle feigned shock.

 

Harry smirked; greeting the group of four politely with handshakes and charming kisses to the backs of the women’s hands.

 

“Nothin’,” Harry drawled in his lazy diction. “What happened to _you_ ,” he asked back pointedly; eyeing his beige plaid trousers and matching waist coat and jacket cautiously. The cream loafers on his feet had leather tassles on the front that he had an instant urge to rip off.

 

Stephen merely smiled wanly as the group waited politely for their greeting to close.

 

“Is that the fashion for men nowadays?” Stephen asked the two men and two women circling them. He lifted his hand to point to his head. “This schoolgirl’s plait thing?”

 

Eldrige McFarron; a man in his fifties and who owned the only remaining coal-mine in the Dumbarton Valley gave a jovial chuckle, easing the tension in Harry’s shoulders marginally.

 

“Aye I think it fair well suits ye, Harold,” he beamed. “My daughter could use ye around the house to get hers into pigtails,” he mused.

 

Harry lifted his brows and smiled warmly; shifting his gaze away from his Uncle.

 

“Thank ye, Eldridge,” Harry cleared his throat as Des hooked a hand around Stephen’s elbow to guide him away. “Tell me, how is the mine doing after the cave-in last winter?”

 

“Aye we’ve got it back steady now,” the older man said. “Margaret’s busy with the wee girls, nothin’ new from us,” he smiled.

 

Harry beamed at the man beside Eldridge.

 

“Darwin! It’s been a wee while…”

 

Harry gritted his teeth as Darwin Mulholland shook his hand. The man was not one of his favourites; having whispered a few criticisms about Harry in polite society that Harry had heard about later from his Mother. Speaking of which, where _was_ Anne, anyway?

 

“Have you met my wife, Lindsay?” Darwin asked.

 

“Only today,” Harry replied. “And how are you bonnie people?”

 

Lindsay giggled softly at the overt charm; her eyes flicking to Harry’s side.

 

“Who is your little friend, there?” She asked, curious.

 

“That’s my bodyguard. Apparently, one can ne’er be too careful,” he smiled wanly.

 

“What’s his name?” Lindsay wondered.

 

“Louis Tomlinson,” Harry supplied, earning Louis’ attention which had been centred around the lawn; surveying the crowd.

 

“Hm?” Louis tuned into the conversation.

 

“Our guests wanted t’say hello,” Harry told him in his posh-voice.

 

“Oh,” Louis looked confused for a moment before waving awkwardly. “Hi.”

 

“Say, Harold, do you know which side of the family your great, great, great grandfather Douglas was on?” Eldridge asked.

 

Harry narrowed his eyes at the man.

 

“My mother’s side,” he replied gently. “Didnae he fight in the Union of Crowns war?”

 

Douglas was a legend in the Montgomery clan, loud and brash and always forging his own path. Harry liked to think he took after his ancestor, but his courage was nowhere near that of the fearless soldier.

 

Eldridge hummed thoughtfully.

 

“Aye, but I think he was stationed in a reserve troupe,” Eldridge commented. 

 

“Why a reserve troupe?” Harry asked.

 

“Ask ye Dad, he used to have the whole family tree drawn out, too,” he mused.

 

_His Dad? Des? He had a family tree that traced their ancestors back to that far?_

 

Then why had he never said anything?

 

He was pulled out of his reverie by Louis’ voice; his _laugh_ , to be precise. Darwin had clearly regaled the group with something hilarious; for they were all joining in but only one of those people he had not seen laugh before. It was something of a spectacle to be gazed at.

 

He feigned amusement; attention distracted into the thrall of the crowd as they gathered around the targets.

 

“It looks as though the shootin’ is about t’start,” Harry excused himself from their present company. “It was lovely to see ye all again, hopefully see ye at the ceremony?” he checked.

 

“Absolutely,” Eldridge nodded enthusiastically. “Let’s see ye pigtails next time,” he winked.

 

Harry felt a warmth bloom over his cheeks as he smiled back; shaking the man’s hand once more, then moving to do the same with Darwin.

 

“Look after your family,” he stated.

 

He was no less than four feet away from the quartet before Louis’ fingers gripped his arm tight enough to make him wince.

 

“Lou, Jesus, what-“ He hissed, eyes lifting to focus on the reason for his urgency.

 

Stood with a cross-bow was a familiar face; a man who shouldn’t have been allowed past the gate; let alone into the competition arena; a man who was pointing his deadly arrow directly at Harry’s chest. _Fuck_. The police had taken him away! Louis had fought with him and gotten hurt because of his bigotry and now he had somehow managed to slip past the guards to infiltrate the crowd.

 

“Get down,” Louis yanked on his arm to force Harry to his knees; moving in front of him and lifting his gun from the holster to aim it right at the man’s forehead. “I wouldn’t, if I were you,” Louis called, loud enough to earn the attention of the crowd who hadn’t quite grasped the motive of the bow-wielding man.

 

Gasps sounded out; a wild scattering of feet and shrieks of terror as people rushed to flee the mad-man; Louis twisting slightly to press a hand to Harry’s shoulder when he sensed him shifting with the intention to stand.

 

“I told ye I’d get that fucking bastard,” the man accused angrily. “I’ll happily serve my time jus’ to see him laid out cold,” he added with a snarl.

 

Louis blinked, assessing the scene again quickly; pursing his lips as he slipped the safety catch off his gun and shot it towards the man’s feet, embedding a bullet into the grass; close enough to make him startle and lose his focus on drawing an arrow into firing range.

 

“Put the bow down,” Louis told him. “I _will_ shoot you,” he promised. “ _Where_ is up to you,” he added dryly. “But let’s not be rash.”

 

The man flailed with the bow still clutched in his hands; struggling to reset the arrow into place.

 

“Aye, ye shoot me and we’ll both be down for time,” the man muttered.

 

“Technically I can shoot you for making a threat, Rambo. Let’s just back it up and drop the bow…”

 

The man’s breathing was heavy; his eyes dark and his body tense with a rage that Louis couldn’t fully fathom.

 

“Aye an’ are you lot alright with this?” He called out to the crowd. “A bloody poofta hosting our kiddies on his lawn? Fuckin’ pervert,” he spat, lifting the bow again, this time with the arrow engaged.

 

Louis didn’t speak before he released his second shot; aiming for his lower shin where the bullet zipped quickly; grounding the man with a wild cry. The arrow which had been queued to fly spurted out and fell on the lawn between them; Louis gesturing one of his extra hired guards to secure the injured man so that he didn’t leave Harry unguarded.

 

“Okay, let’s go,” he ran a hand gently over Harry’s shoulders.

 

Harry was balled-up on the lawn; barely shifting at Louis’ instruction.

 

“Hey, Eagle,” Louis cajoled; hooking a hand under his arm. “Time to fly,” he urged.

 

Harry unfolded himself and got to his feet slowly; brushing the grass from his tartan. His hands felt shaky and his eyes flared as he stared at the scene, not really seeing, almost.

 

“M’not going,” he frowned, lips pressing together stubbornly as the crowd gathered closer now; some voices hysterical; some chattering incessantly. Louis called more guards over to hold them back.

 

Harry stared at the grass while Louis stepped closer; the hand grasping his upper arm tightening enough for Harry to tense his bicep in response. He felt Louis’ gaze burn into his skin; accusing and sharp.

 

“You promised,” was the whisper that slipped between Louis’ lips; licked and pressed together in frustration.

 

His eyes shifted to the man lain on the ground; now bleeding; the distant siren of an ambulance indicating its journey up the drive; no doubt flanked by the police.

 

“Don’t worry folk!” Des strode through the panicked attendees. “Everything is fine! No need to panic!”

 

He stalked up to Louis who was still in limbo with Harry; and he leaned in close.

 

“Why isn’t he out of here, yet?” He demanded.

 

Louis’ lashes flickered as he flicked his eyes to the older man.

 

“Not for want of trying,” he muttered; brushing a thumb over Harry’s bicep as Harry tremored lightly.

 

“How the fuck did that madman manage to get in?!” He whisper-yelled.

 

Louis stared at him, dread shimmering through his body.

 

“I can promise you, it wasn’t one of my team that let him through,” Louis promised.

 

“I want the CCTV film on my desk first thing with a de-brief on what the fuck happened,” Des hissed, turning his attention to Harry. “Harold, get inside, wee lad,” he instructed. “Stop all this nonsense.”

 

Harry’s brow’s drew together with the same slow hesitation that all his movement consisted of; his eyes finally lifting from the ground to focus on the people around him. His heart felt too heavy in his chest, his head felt light and spinny. He knew he had to leave; he knew he’d promised Louis that he’d save himself if the need arose because he was done fighting him on it but something…something had his feet planted to the ground and his body unable to shift.

 

“Harry…” Louis’ hand slid delicately down his arm; circling his wrist where his thumb pressed against his pulse-point to check its rhythm. Harry’s lips parted to suck in a short; surprised breath but his lungs felt tight, too. Felt like they were sucking in glue instead of air.

 

Louis’ hand fell away from his skin and he staggered without the connection to guide him into which way was up, but Louis was  there to steady him once more; arms wrapped around his middle.

 

“I’m going to pick you up,” Louis told him as he blinked, confused. “Don’t fight me,” he added softly in a murmur as he bent down.

 

Harry was carefully thrown over Louis’ shoulder and hauled up the lawn; the smaller man directing the men on the ground as to their new positions and tasks; the crowd now being escorted from the lawn towards the drive which was blocked off by the attending ambulance.

 

Harry let himself go limp against Louis’ body; let his eyes close and his mind shut down. He wasn’t needed, now. He could succumb to the dark.

 

//

 

When Harry awoke, he was curled on his side; his hair still woven into it’s braid, but softened by sleep and frizzy from the activity of the day.

 

It was dark outside and the house was quiet; save for the odd scratchy intermission from a hand-held radio; signalling Louis’ presence outside his door.

 

He rolled onto his back, eyes shifting around the room, focusing on a glass of water on his bedside table, his inhaler set carefully beside it. On a small dish sat a thick slice of chocolate cake and he rolled his eyes. His Mother had been up to check on him, then.

 

He felt the quiver of uncertainty flood through him; the dark sky making him jolt as he flicked his eyes back to the window. Quickly; and with a little stumble on the way, Harry whipped the curtains shut and headed for his wardrobe.

 

His suit jacket and plaid had been removed; along with his shoes and kilt but he was left with his boxer-briefs, vest and socks. He snorted, sliding the hose from his calves and flinging it away.

 

In his wardrobe hung a singular cotton, dark pink dress with white flowers printed on it. It was pretty basic- a shift-style with ties at the chest that he never bothered to do up and he tugged off his vest to slide the thin, pretty fabric over his head; smoothing it over his torso. It was long, too, fell to his mid-calf and settled softly around his limbs. It felt good to be wearing it again.

 

He sucked in a comforted breath and went about buttoning the tiny buttons that led up from the waist towards the tie. They were fiddly; particularly for fingers which seemed jittery so he gave up, heading over to his record-player instead.

 

His skin goose-pimpled in the cool air; his body perhaps needing more layers as he settled the record to play; resting the needle into the groove. The sound of faint crackles; wisps of raspy noise from age and dust made his heart soar. This was what he needed. Music and to dance.

 

_Hold on, let's end this conversation_

_We need to take a break and I don't want to fight_

_I've had a minor revelation_

_Let's deal with it later 'Cause it's Friday night_

_All week, we've been working so hard_

_Now it's time to kick back and set our sights_

_We can make it pretty simple_

_Put it on the backburner It's a Friday night_

_Feel that warm breeze floating through the window_

_Sure do like it this way_

_Something tells me this is the way to go_

_And I've got a few things to say_

Harry closed his eyes and dipped his head back, body swinging around instinctively as he twirled; eyes opening only a slit to ensure he didn’t hit any furniture on his route as he span and swooped across the carpeted floor. _Slip into your best dress Paint your lips red Open up your blue eyes Forget the things we said I could be your lover You can shine the light Let's fire up the candle It's a Friday night_

“Harry?” A knock sounded on the door.

 

 _Shit_.

 

Harry’s head shot up, brows furrowing. _Louis_. He wasn’t going to come into the room, he reasoned. Not when he could hear that Harry was awake and perfectly okay. He just needed a few more minutes to himself. To pretend that nobody else in the world existed and that he was safe here alone in his little corner where nobody else could threaten his existence out of hate or any other motive.

 

_Let’s go look for hidden treasure I_

_wanna dig it up while the moon is bright_

_No more living under pressure_

_Gotta see your eyes sparkle It's a Friday night R_

_oll that big world right off your shoulders_

_I will try to do the same_

_If we don't act now, we'll simply grow older_

_Another faded picture in a frame_

 

“Harry?” Louis called him again, while Harry pattered his feet on the floor; spinning in dizzying circles with his chin lifted to the ceiling and his arms outstretched like a ballerina. Fuck, but it felt good. It felt so, so good. Why couldn’t he always do this? Why couldn’t he be who he really wanted to be without being judged and criticised and hated?

 _Button off your blue jeans Tumble down your hair Take a look around We can do it anywhere You can be my princess I'll be what you like Let's run around the palace It's a Friday night_  
  


“Harry?”

He almost didn’t hear the third call, too caught up in the moment. The door burst open and his eyes were closed but he heard the soft, ‘fuck’, that Louis gave out, his eyes startling open and his spinning body finally giving in. He staggered inelegantly and landed on the floor with a thud; his vision dizzying. The music played on as a warmth surrounded him; arms tightening around him and not scooping him up like he expected; but just holding him against a firm, warm chest.

_Feel that warm breeze floating through the window_

_Sure do like it this way_

_Something tells me this is the way to go_

_And I've got a few words to say_

_Slip into your best dress_

_Paint your lips red_

_Open up your blue eyes_

_Forget the things we said_

_I could be your lover_

_You can shine the light_

_Let's burn another candle It's a Friday night_

 

“Don’t fucking do that to me,” Louis accused as the song finished and it was almost like he was waiting for the music to end before he spoke.

 

Harry tried to right himself but he was fixed in place by Louis’ arms; too tight to break away from their hold.

 

“Ye can let me go,” he managed to huff.

 

He heard Louis swallow and felt him loosen his grip, shifting away only a few inches while Harry tried to get to his knees.

 

“You didn’t answer me,” Louis accused, getting to his feet.

 

Harry looked up at him, hands stroking over his cotton dress self-consciously.

 

“I wanted to be alone,” he murmured.

 

“I thought someone had broken in!” Louis argued with a huff. “I couldn’t wait any longer in case you were hurt!”

 

Harry swayed with the residual spins of his head, heart mis-beating oddly in his chest.

 

“Well, you’re here, now,” he fisted his hands in the gathered fabric of the dress skirt. “No fuckin’ secrets, short-stuff,” he mused.

 

The air seemed to settle; from fraught and urgent to something calmer and more serene. He lifted his head as Louis turned; mouth opening to beg him to stay but Louis didn’t head for the door. Instead he lifted the needle off the spent record which was spinning emptily in the background.

 

“I’ve already seen you in a dress,” Louis reminded him; setting another vinyl onto the plate.

 

Harry snorted. _Aye, he had_. The song started gently on the player and it tugged a smile from his lips as the familiarity washed over him.

 

_Desperado_

_Why don't you come to your senses_

_You been out ridin' fences_

_For so long now_

_Oh, you're a hard one_

_But I know that you've got your reasons_

_T_ _hese things that are pleasin' you_

_Can hurt you somehow_

 

“Come on then,” Louis said softly.

 

Harry looked up again; greeted with the view of Louis’ knees. Another inch or so brought Louis’ offered hand into his eyeline.

 

“What’s this?” He asked.

 

“You wanted to dance?” Louis asked. “Let’s dance.”

 

 _Together_ _?_ Harry wanted to ask. But he didn’t. Because he didn’t know why Louis was there; wanting to pick him up when he felt like giving up but he was and maybe it meant something; even if it didn’t mean anything at all.

 

_Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy_

_She'll beat you_ _If she's able_

 _The queen of hearts_ _Is always your best bet_

_Now it seems to me some fine things_

_Have been laid upon your table_

_But you only want the ones_

_That you can't get_

 

“Alright,” he conceded thickly; grasping his hand to get to his feet unsteadily.

 

Louis stepped into the gap quickly; arm supporting his back.

 

“Aye, you’re a regular Kevin Bacon, are ye?” Harry teased with a slow blink.

 

Louis rolled his eyes.

 

“Quit whining, Princess,” he teased, setting them into a semi-formal pose; still supporting Harry with an arm around his waist; hands grasped gently as they began to sway in time to the tune.

 

_Desperado_

_Oh you ain't gettin' no younger_

_Your pain and your hunger_

_They're drivin' you home_

_Freedom, Ah freedom_

_T_ _hat's just some people talkin'_

_You're prisoners walkin'_

_Through this world all alone_

 

Harry blew a frizzy locket of hair from his forehead; breaking his hand-hold with Louis to brush it away; only to still when Louis’ eyes met his; rendering him motionless. Louis’ hand lifted instead; picking up the errant curl between two fingers and tucking it behind his ear with the kind of gentility Harry would expect from his Mother; not a man who would fight to the death to protect him.

 

Their gazes locked; his heart thumped anxiously in his chest but Louis’ hand didn’t return to take his, yet. His fingers lingered in his hair; tracing the hard ridges of his plait as those unreadable blue eyes traced the pretty design.

 

“I like this,” Louis murmured, hand falling away and plucking at the loose, dangling tie at the front of Harry’s dress. “And this,” he promised quietly, pressing his lips together as if to hold back a tide of words.

 

Harry wanted to hear them. Wanted to hear what else Louis could possibly like because he liked too many things about Louis already and he didn’t even know him well enough to know that, really.

 

Louis’ hand finally came to clasp his again, even though the song was nearly over; the last verse swirling around them as they stared into each other’s eyes and forgot about the rest of the world. His palm felt hot; a little sweaty but Louis’ somewhat bashful smile made up for that. Harry dipped to catch the edges of it where Louis ducked his chin to hide it; his eyes crinkling to give him away. Harry’s own mouth surged into a soft, responding grin; his body swathing closer to brush his own happiness into Louis’ hair.

 

“You’ve got to stop savin’ me,” Harry mumbled.

 

_Don't your feet get cold in the wintertime_

_The sky won't snow and the sun won't shine_

_It's hard to tell the night time_

_From the day_

_You're losin' all your highs and lows_

_Ain't it funny how the feelin' goes away_

 

“Why?” Louis looked up, aggrieved.

 

“Because,” Harry managed to labour out the word from a tight throat; thickened with emotion.

 

Louis waited; eyes prompting him for the rest of his answer.

 

“Because you’re settin’ the bar too high, Lou,” he breathed, biting his lip. “Nobody else can reach it.”

 

“They can if you let them,” Louis challenged quietly; words resonating in Harry’s core; in his soul too, maybe. _If he let them_. Which he didn’t. He didn’t let anybody inside his armour. Inside his world. It wasn’t the best place to be ; full of opposition and anger and downright fear at times. Why would he want to invite someone into that? And who would he want to join him there anyway? Nobody deserved that.

 

_Desperado_

_Why don't you come to your senses_

_Come down from your fences_

_Open the gate_

_It may be rainin'_

_But there's a rainbow above you_

_You better let somebody love you_

_You better let somebody love you_

_Before it's too late_

 

Harry blinked as the song ended; the last two lines spinning on loop in his brain.

 

_You better let somebody love you before it’s too late._

He looked at Louis; eyes fixed to his mouth; body curving to be closer but he pulled himself away from the magnetic draw of wanting to kiss him.

 

“Ye said-“ He cleared his throat of the husk settled there. “Ye said you killed your ex to protect your client,” he broached, brows furrowing.

 

Louis nodded; not stepping away from Harry’s hold any quicker than Harry released him.

 

“Who was your client?”

 

Louis sighed; hands shifting to play with the lengths of cotton that made up the ties at the front of Harry’s dress. He began to tie them into a knot.

 

“A little girl;” he shared. “She called me Uncle Louis…I thought we’d escaped,” he sucked in a breath. “I took her underground, into the sewers so that we could cross town without being seen but I didn’t know that he was working on the inside,” he murmured. “I didn’t know that it was _him_.”

 

Harry cupped louis’ cheek; eyes focused in his as he frowned.

 

“You did somethin’ tha’ not everyone could do, Lou.”

 

“I had to protect her,” he whispered. “His bullet went through me and hit her in the thigh.”

 

“What?” Harry lifted his face carefully; searching his gaze.

 

Louis smirked but it looked a bit broken.

 

“Missed my vitals,” he narrated as he tied a bow; fingers moving to work on the tiny buttons Harry couldn’t grip before. “Guess someone wanted me alive.”

 

“Aye,” Harry murmured. “Aye, we did,” he promised.

 

Louis looked at him a bit startled; eyes flicking away as if only just realising where he was. He swallowed and took a step back; breaking their embrace. Harry released him with aching arms; with an empty heart that hadn’t felt empty before. Maybe it _had_ always been empty but now he had possibly found something to fill it?

 

“Um…do you feel alright now? Breathing okay?” Louis checked.

 

Harry looked at him; eyes half-lidded as he chucked out a knowing breath.

 

“Aye, I’m grand,” he assured.

 

Louis nodded, eyes lingering on his face and scattering over his hair.

 

“Don’t be afraid,” he begged raspily, as Harry swished his dress nervously.

 

“Tha's easy for ye to say,” he murmured, eyes dipping to his bare feet and venturing back up slowly.

 

“I mean—”Louis swallowed, reaching for Harry’s wrist.

 

Harry didn’t let go of the fabric of his dress as Louis' thumb grazed over his skin slowly; settling a deep pulse into his body.

 

“Don’t afraid to be _you_ ,” Louis clarified. “The people around here might not get it yet, but I do,” he promised quietly.

 

Harry darted his eyes to Louis’ face; his features creasing with confusion and hope.

 

“Ye really like my dress?” He asked, voice quiet and husky.

 

Louis smirked, a soft curve to his lips that flashed his brilliant smile once he let it break free. Harry watched it unfurl; like Louis' lashes lifting from his cheeks as he cast those arresting blue eyes on him once more.

 

“I really do,” he slid his hand from Harry’s wrist to curl the fabric under his fingertips; stepping closer to pull Harry towards him with both hands clasped in the pink cotton.

 

It was Harry who tilted his head and leaned down; eyelids swooping low to focus on Louis' mouth but it was Louis who surged up into the movement to make sure they connected; fingers tightening into the folds of Harry’s dress to anchor himself as their lips collided.

 

Harry’s hands untangled from his skirt; tugging away from Louis’ touch to cup his face while their kiss extended; Harry groaning low in his throat when Louis slid a hand against his lower back to press him closer.

 

It felt like burning alight; like fire had broken out on his skin only he didn’t want to run from the danger; he wanted to fling himself into it and feel the answering rock hard heat of Louis’ body after they’d kissed like this for a while.

 

And maybe Louis wanted that too? He considered as he wrapped his arms about the smaller man to tuck him closely against his body; the lure of feeling his heartbeat and the warmth of his breath too much to let him go.

 

Louis' hand slipped lower; flexing against his ass and Harry let out a soft pleading sound in his throat; pressing closer at the same moment Louis broke away.

 

Startled eyes met his; Louis' hand lifting shakily to tidy his messy hair as he staggered back.

 

_Fuck._

He didn’t say it but Harry heard it and his heart thumped painfully in his chest as he watched Louis back away; horrified.

 

“I’m sorry—”

 

“Dunnae be,” Harry begged in a deep voice, swallowing hard.

 

“I...I can't protect you like this,” he whispered, beseeching Harry with guilt-lined eyes.

 

Harry stared at him, body thrumming with the need to be close again; mind screaming at him to _escape_ before he got burned to the ground.

 

“Jus' stay the night wi' me,” he begged with a broken voice. “Jus’ sleep beside me and keep out the demons, jus' for tonight...”

 

Harry wondered if Louis knew the demons were mostly in Harry’s mind, telling him he wasn’t good enough or smart enough or _straight_ enough to be Laird.  

 

The way Louis looked at him; he felt as though he might.

 

“Alright, Princess,” Louis acquiesced softly to his plea. “I’ll stay until you’re asleep.”

 

Harry nodded and moved to get ready for bed.

 

//

 

Harry fell asleep with Louis laid beside him; far enough away not to feel his warmth but near enough to hear his breathing.

 

He woke up around twilight with Louis’ arm protectively shrouding him; his small body pressed to his back and that safe feeling comforting him enough to drift back into sleep; even if it was with the knowledge that Louis wouldn’t still be there when he woke up the next time.

 

//

 

Harry pulled the hem of his lavender jumper down over his purple check kilt; fingers combing his hair back to secure it with a band into a bun. He poked his head out of his bedroom door; not sure what to expect from Louis in the cold light of a new day but his brows tugged together when Eric came into sight stood outside his door.

 

“Mornin’,” he greeted; clearing his throat and coming fully into the hall.

 

Eric nodded in greeting only.

 

Harry rolled his eyes and climbed down the stairs in his boots; heading for the kitchen.

 

“Where’s Louis?” He asked his Mum as he strode in; placing a kiss on her cheek and leaning down for a quick hug.

 

Anne paused her toast- consumption; shoulders stiffening as she straightened her back.

 

“Darling, Mr. Tomlinson no longer works for us,” she replied gently; glancing over her shoulder to track Harry’s progress.

 

He pulled back from leaning into the fridge and slammed the door shut.

 

“I beg ye pardon?”

 

Anne cleared her throat.

 

“It was your father’s decision. He’s in the study if you want to discuss it...”

 

Harry twisted and stormed across the room

 

“Aye I want'a do somethin', alright,” he muttered frustratedly.

 

//

 

“Where the fuck is Loueh?” Harry stormed into the library to find his father behind his desk.

 

Des looked up starkly; face settling into expectation.

 

“Ah, Harold,” he greeted. “What seems to be the issue?”

 

“Just answer the question!” Harry argued.

 

His father came out from behind his desk; fingers threading together calmly. Harry glared at him; not feeling quite as calm.

 

“The security breach that occurred yesterday was unacceptable,” Des shared. “We couldn’t justify employing someone who allowed _that man_ to infiltrate the grounds.”

 

“That's bullshit and we both know it,” Harry stepped forward belligerently.

 

Des ignored him.

 

“We’ve kept Eric on for now,” Des continued. “But since there’s been nothing for the last few weeks, it doesn’t seem worth replacing Louis.”

 

“What about the ceremony?” Harry challenged. “Who’s going to be there, then?”

 

“We can get security in, Harry,” his Dad assured. “Are ye sure this isn’t about somethin’ else?” He raised a brow suggestively.

 

Harry smiled at him but it was bitter and unhappy.

 

“Where's Uncle Steve?” Harry asked next, knowingly.

 

Des sighed.

 

“I asked him to leave this morning,” he admitted.

 

“Becau’?” Harry demanded thickly.

 

“It doesnae matter why,” Des countered. “Just know that he’s left and he won’t be back soon!”

 

“He was the one who let the guy in, wasn’t he?” Harry asked. “On the video…it shows him, doesnae it?”

 

Des came forward to wrap his hand around Harry’s forearm; a troubled frown appearing on his face.

 

“Harry, there’s somethin’ ye should know…”

 

Harry rolled his eyes and ripped his arm out of his father’s grip.

 

“I’m goin’ to pack and then I’m leavin’, too,” he stated. “Don’t look for me,” he added as he headed out of the room.

 

//

The hike up the third peak was harder than Harry remembered.

 

When he was twelve he’d built a tree house up there but his father had done one better and built a full log cabin on the south side facing the waterfall that cascaded the side of the mountain.

 

Harry would stay out there for the whole of hunting season to make sure poachers didn’t kill too many of his precious animals.

 

He’d seen some peregrines searching for food; had watched a few hares hop around and the odd fox or badger slink into the dark undergrowth.

 

He missed being out there.

 

But he also hated feeling afraid. It didn’t matter that nobody had taken a shot since the attack at Niall's pub. Harry felt like his time was being counted. So he walked with a loaded rifle; ready to shoot.

 

His dad might believe the threat to be gone but Harry had a feeling they were waiting for the right moment to strike. And climbing out into the wilderness was possibly not his best plan to date but there was no way on St Andrews’  grave that he was going to stay in that house.

 

His father had been warned about Stephen; he’d brushed Louis’ concerns away and even though it was Stephen’s fault that Harry's safety had been compromised; Des was _still_ holding Louis accountable.

 

Harry got a sudden sinking feeling that his Dad knew more than he was letting on.

 

“Fuck’s sake,” Harry hocked; spitting into the leafy plantation.

 

And then there was Louis, of course. Or more precisely: _his feelings for Louis_. Because for reasons he couldn’t fathom he’d made it blatantly obvious to his bodyguard that he _had_ feelings.

 

What those feelings were _exactly_ he hadn’t defined as yet.  But the thundering ache of arousal still pumping through his veins from two measly kisses should say an awful lot.

 

And the kisses were not _entirely_ measly.

 

“Ne'er,” he snorted his amusement to himself.

 

As a man who didn’t know how to operate in the dating world; suddenly he wondered what options he and Louis even had if they did decide to kiss again (he hoped they did).

 

Did Louis even want to get to know him? Did he just want to fuck him and leave?

 

Harry might never find out since Louis was likely already on his way back to London.

 

He sighed; thighs straining with the steep climb; his chest wheezing.

 

“Best fuckin’ pray th'bastard gave up,” he muttered to himself.

 

If something were to happen now, when Des had sent Louis away; then Harry might never forgive him.

 

//

 

It was after he'd messily unpacked his rucksack and he was just setting his things up to make tea; that he first heard the noise.

 

He knew animal noises; knew the times they were likely to be awake or moving about and knew what wasn’t animal, was _human_.

 

His breathing instantly spiked; his tin mug clattering to the cabin floor as the sound got louder; definitely the sound of breaking twigs outside. _Should he shout to them? Tell them to fuck off?_

 

He picked up his rifle in gentle fingers and sent a prayer upwards that he didn’t need to use it other than to save his own life.

 

He wasn’t even sure he’d be able to shoot straight; the instant and debilitating fear racing through his body and rendering him frozen in place as the footsteps clomped heavily on the cabin veranda.

 

This was no stealth attack, no sniper or psychological warfare. Whoever was outside his cabin wasn’t afraid. He jerked sharply as a sharp rap sounded against the door.

 

His breathing quickened; rifle set into place with slow precision: a film of sweat sheening his skin.

 

“Come in mother fucker,” he breathed, loading the rifle to shoot, finger stroking the trigger.

 

The second knock almost had him pulling the trigger and shooting right through the door.

 

“Harry?”

 

Harry’s breath caught sharply. _Louis?_

“Harry, you in there?” Louis called out again.

 

“Lou?”

 

He moved toward the door, setting his gun to safe mode and propping it beside the door as he unlatched it carefully to squint outside.

 

Louis’ contrite face came into view; eyes dark in a way Harry hadn’t seen before.

 

“Lou,” he breathed; pulling the door open wide.

 

Louis moved inside the cabin with a concerned glance.

 

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, slipping his rucksack off his shoulders and turning back towards Harry to grasp his arms.

 

“I- I thought maybe...” He swallowed away his fears.

 

Louis’ face creased guiltily.

 

“Sorry, Princess. I’m sorry,” he apologised softly.

 

Harry tilted his head and rolled his eyes; twisting his forearms to fasten his hands around Louis' arms the same way Louis was holding him.

 

“Thought you’d be back home by now,” Harry accused warmly.

 

Louis broke contact with a sigh.

 

“I couldn’t leave,” he murmured.  “I’m not under contract anymore but I know that the threat to your life isn’t over.”

 

Harry’s chin lifted to regard him astutely. He smoothed his palm over his drawn-back hair and let his hand drop; pulling at the edge of his jumper.

 

“Nothin' but sweet-talk from ye, short stuff,” he teased.  

 

Louis’ eyes crinkled when he smirked; more affection than derision in that expression.

 

“Call it an ethical oath,” Louis vouched. “I couldn’t walk away knowing you could be in danger.”

 

Harry nodded, tongue flicking out over his lower lip.

 

“Aye but there’s Eric ye know...”

 

Louis met his gaze and held it; the swirl of ocean-like shades within the blue-grey mesmerising Harry into stillness.

 

“Eric won’t sleep next to you to make sure the monsters don’t get you from underneath the bed,” Louis quipped; but his words were soft and his features were softer.

 

Harry found himself gazing at him for a long moment; wondering if he might take the words back or deny the clear sentiment underlining them. They’d never talked about the intimacy they’d shared; never spoke about where it might lead and Harry knew that was because it couldn’t lead anywhere. Louis was obligated to his assignment; wherever that may lead him. It was far, far away from Scotland and Harry’s precious mountains. But Louis was there, right in that moment and it had to mean _something_.

 

“Dunnae think he would, nay,” Harry smirked.

 

Louis finally drifted closer; as though their teasing words and lingering looks were silent permission for something else.

 

“I tracked you from the castle you know,” he chastised gently.  “You shouldn’t have left the house alone.”

 

“My father was being an ass,” Harry complained. “I had t’get away.”

 

“We're on our own now, you know that don’t you?”

 

Harry nodded, sucking his lip. He slipped a furtive glance at Louis.

 

“I missed ye, short stuff,” he murmured.

 

Louis' face softened.

 

“Missed you too, Princess.”

 

Harry took courage from the words and filled the remaining space between them; wrapping his arms right around Louis' smaller form.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song credits to:  
> Timothy B Shmidt- Friday Night  
> Eagles- Desperado


	9. Chapter 9

“So… what’s the plan?” Louis asked as they sat around the small, rickety table surrounded by four equally rickety chairs.

 

Harry cupped his hands around the warmth of his mug and tried to forget the way Louis’ body felt folded in close to his. He tried to ignore the throbbing want in his lips to brush against Louis’ again to kiss him and keep kissing him until they fell together somewhere; bodies tangled and intertwined.

 

“I have t’go back for the ceremony,” Harry explained. “There’s a festival for the day; I’m to take part in the games and then in the evenin’ there’s a big dinner in the grand hall. I’ll be presented with the Deeds to the land.”

 

Louis’ gaze dipped to his cup, a thoughtful furrow creasing his brow.

 

“I can take part in the games,” Louis suggested. “Dress the part so that I blend in.”

 

Harry’s lips pulled into a smug grin.

 

“Ye goin’ta wear a kilt, Lou?” He mused.

 

Louis smiled back.

 

“Aye,” he answered quietly, mocking Harry’s accent.

 

“I cannae wait t’see tha’,” Harry chuckled.

 

“What about your Dad?” Louis asked.

 

“What about him?” Harry wondered.

 

“Will he let me attend?”

 

Harry watched him thoughtfully.

 

“He cannae stop ye.”

 

Louis sucked in a breath.

 

“We need to think about the possibility,” Louis ventured.

 

Harry blinked; pursing his lips.

 

“What did he say to ye when he asked ye to leave?”

 

Louis lifted his chin; lashes swooping over his half-lidded eyes.

 

“He told me that he’d given me the benefit of the doubt over the kiss your Uncle had brought to his attention but that he thought it was best for me to leave…”

 

“Nothin’ fuckin’ happened,” Harry growled.

 

Louis smiled sadly.

 

“I think it was more about the security breach,” he added. “He was right. It was my fault. I should have made sure that nobody could get past the gate.”

 

“Fuck tha’,” Harry cast in a huff. “We both know my Uncle has more t’do with this than my father will accept.”

 

Louis swallowed.

 

“I got the proof that it was him who set up the story,” he shared. “And the deal with the golf company was also at his request. He was planning to sell the entire plot to McInsters to develop into some kind of golfing Disneyland,” he mused. “It seems he’s relying on your father having a change of heart as to who the land will be gifted to.”

 

“Fuck,” Harry sighed; face creasing with the weight of those words; with their implications and the possible repercussions from the knowledge.

 

“I think your Uncle hired the hitman, Harry,” Louis spoke the words aloud which he’d been hiding to protect the other man, needing Harry if nobody else, to believe his gut feeling.

 

“I think he did too,” Harry whispered, fingers slipping from their curled position around his mug to cover his face. “Shit.”

 

Louis got up slowly; grasping his wrists to pull them away from his face. Harry’s brows were furrowed in confusion; eyes dipping away to avoid Louis’ gaze; his lips pouting naturally in a way that had Louis wanting to kiss him all over again; no matter how wrong it was.

 

“Why?” Harry begged.

 

“Haven’t worked that out yet,” Louis murmured, brushing his thumbs over Harry’s skin.

 

“Ye think he’s goin’ta come back don’t ye?”

 

Louis nodded.

 

“At the games?” Harry asked.

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Or at the ceremony,” Harry realised; horrified.

 

“Your Uncle is going to be there,” Louis reminded him. “But you have to play it cool. We have to catch him in the act. He has to communicate with the hitman somehow,” he reasoned. “I’ve got all my contacts tracking your Uncle and if your father allows it, we’ll cover the place with cameras.”

 

Harry stared at him starkly, nostrils flaring.

 

“I cannae stop it from happening,” he stated, reality dawning on him.

 

Louis cupped his cheek.

 

“I’ll protect you,” he promised.

 

Harry blinked; flicking his eyes away from the vow. Louis had already taken one bullet to his chest; he wasn’t about to watch him do the same thing again.

 

“You’re wearing body armour,” Harry stated quietly; knowing better than to argue.

 

“So are you,” Louis assured. “I’ve got an ultra-thin vest you can wear underneath your outfit.”

 

“Aye, my pretty wee kilt and plaid,” Harry joked weakly with a gruff voice.

 

“You painting your nails for this one?” Louis asked; a smirk twitching his lips.

 

Harry huffed out a laugh.

 

“Best not ask for trouble,” he conceded. “Enough folk want me dead, aye.”

 

Louis’ fingers tickled over his ear; trailing into his tied-up hair.

 

“Good job I’m here to stop that happening then,” he commented.

 

Harry closed his eyes and leaned his head to the side to settle the weight of it against Louis’ palm.

 

“Aye,” he murmured with a twist of his lips and a fleeting furrow of his brow before he let the sense of security wash over him.

 

//

 

“There’s only the one bed here, Lou,” Harry told him as he openly unwrapped his kilt; his lilac jumper already dropped to the floor.

 

Louis glanced over from where he was preparing his hand guns; the parts laid out on the table from where he’d unboxed them from his rucksack. His eyes flicked over Harry’s vest first; lingering on his muscular arms and settling on his boxer-briefed lower half. The material clung to his behind as Harry turned to look over his shoulder with a seductive smile as if knowing Louis was looking.

 

“Not jus’ a leg man?” Harry enquired drily.

 

Louis didn’t move his gaze from his ass until Harry turned to rest his thumbs and forefingers on his hips; showcasing his front side with an arched brow. The bulge cupped attractively in the black jersey of his shorts was nearly as enticing as the smooth; thick thighs pressing together underneath.

 

“Get into bed, Harry,” he said only; a thick swallow giving him away if his hot gaze hadn’t.

 

“Is tha’ an invitation?” Harry gave a lop-sided, dimpled smile. “Ye should ask nicely, ye know…a wee _please_ wouldnae hurt…”

 

Louis very slowly; very deliberately finished his gun-prep and laid the hand-piece down; moving around the table towards where Harry was stood; by the foot of the bed. The cabin made it impossible to hide; gave them barely any room to find solace but neither of them seemed to want it.

 

Harry’s gaze travelled the same way Louis’ had; roaming Louis’ bare arms and dipping to his jean-clad legs; centreing between his thighs where Louis felt his body throb in response to the attention. If he was hardening under Harry’s gaze alone he wasn’t willing to acknowledge the fact.

 

“Get into bed,” he repeated, more a husky plea than a command.

 

Harry tried to work out which he preferred. He had never been a man who took well to being told what to do.

 

“Please,” Louis added, breath labouring as Harry switched footing; flexing the muscles in his long legs.

 

“Make me,” Harry challenged; heart-beat spiking at his dare.

 

Louis began to move toward him and Harry felt the hitch of his breath in the second between Louis reaching him and what happened next. Louis’ arms banded around his waist and he was being walked backward; only two steps until the backs of his calves brushed the bedframe but Louis didn’t toss him onto it like he anticipated; hands lifting to grip his shoulders.

 

He quickly slipped his arms tightly around him when Louis leaned forwards; one knee poking between Harry’s to settle on the mattress.

 

“Hold tight,” Louis’ lips brushed his ear as he shifted his body onto the soft bedding; crawling up to place him in the centre; little lips tugging into a satisfied grin. “There,” he murmured smugly.

 

Harry blinked, nostrils flaring as he wondered if he should let go but Louis was leaning to one side to free his right hand; his fingertips pushing into the mound of Harry’s hair to dig out the band securing it.

 

Once he had the band tugged free; he gently combed out his long curls onto the bed-covers underneath them.

 

“Pretty,” Louis smiled again; eyes crinkling in that way they did.

 

Harry slid his hand to the back of Louis’ neck and arched up to kiss him; body pressing magnetically against Louis’ as it weighed him down and he wanted to feel his fingers in his hair forever; wanted to hear his happy, raspy voice calling him ‘pretty’ and telling him not to be afraid to be himself.

 

He moaned and it was loud; echoing in Louis’ throat as their mouths slanted and Harry felt like his heart was about to trip out of his chest; his legs kicking about inelegantly to get in a position to wrap around Louis’ waist and once he’d achieved his goal he kissed him harder; happy explosions bursting in the back of his brain.

 

They were safe there and Louis wasn’t under contract anymore and this might be the only night they’d get to do this; to abandon themselves to the inexplicable draw that occurred between them and that they’d been fighting from the start.

 

“Lou,” Harry gasped as Louis wrapped a hand around his thigh and ground into him; hard.

 

Louis broke their kiss to suck gently on his throat; apparently an allowance for Harry to speak but his mind whited out at the pleasure shooting through every nerve ending from the sweet sharp scrape of Louis’ teeth against his thumping pulse point. That pounding was mirrored between his thighs where Louis was now tightly wrapped; circling his hips as he bit hickeys into Harry’s chest.

 

“Fuck,” Harry begged; hands grasping Louis’ biceps and thumbs digging into his muscle; hard. “Lou-“

 

Louis rose up to kiss him on the mouth again; hotter this time; tongue flicking in to steal away his breath and Harry let him; writhing beneath him with a sharp twist. His let out a cry of need; a throaty whimper strangled by their kisses; by Louis’ heated consumption of his mouth. It felt like too much pressure; like not enough; like sweet, sweet rainfall hitting heavy in amongst a storm.

 

Louis’ hand cupped his cheek; thumb grooving into the hollow; fingers pushing into his tangled hair but Harry snatched his hand to guide it south; pressing it against himself between their tightly pressed bodies; the extra pressure making his back bow and his breath catch in overwhelming pleasure.

 

“We can’t go back after this,” Louis whispered; and Harry didn’t know if he meant back to the house or back to being professional; but he didn’t much care either way.

 

He needed Louis’ touch; needed to prove that his own wild, abandoned thoughts were matched somehow; that Louis felt wild and abandoned, too. Underneath the strict self-discipline and the self-imposed rules; Louis was still laying above him breathless; his hair a mess and his skin burning hot with the same want Harry felt pulsing through his veins.

 

Louis paused from kissing him; pupil-dark eyes meeting his as his fingertips tucked under the very edge of his boxer-briefs; right at his hip where the edges of his laurel-leaf tattoo curled daintily outwards.

 

Harry swallowed at his look and nodded; sucking in air as Louis leaned away enough to drag his shorts down; baring his rock-hard shaft to the cool air of the cabin.

 

“Fuck,” he whispered again; fingers tangling into his hair as he let one leg fall away from Louis’ body while the other man just _looked_ , his other still hooked over Louis’ hip while Louis propped himself up on his elbow.

 

The way Louis licked his lips slowly; the way his eyes clung to Harry’s throbbing heat; Harry had to gulp back the urge to come like that; his dick twitching with the reverence Louis was bestowing on him.

 

“Beautiful,” Louis looked at him then, lips slick.

 

Harry blinked; squeezing his eyes shut to temper his need.  Louis leaned in close; still not touching him; lips grazing his temple.

 

“Don’t hold back,” he teased with a knowing warmth that Harry huffed at; hips shifting and hands moving to blindly find something to anchor himself to.

 

He opened his eyes to see Louis leaning over him for another kiss; their bodies pressing together tightly as he flicked his tongue into his mouth. Harry squirmed; pushing his hips into Louis’ down-strokes but it was nowhere near enough and he scrabbled to wrap a hand around himself to bring his painful pleasure to an end.

 

“Shh, shh,” Louis captured his wrist and comforted his jittery, manic attempt to touch himself. Louis kissed the inside of his wrist and pressed his arm against the bed. “I’m coming, Princess,” he murmured.

 

Harry choked at the sound of _that_ nickname in _that_ moment; heated and intense and on the very precipice of his orgasm; a teasing and sometimes biting name that sounded sinful impassioned as it was now.

 

“Please,” he whispered; lower back lifting off the bed and head thrown back to Louis’ licking kisses now being lathed over his nipples.

 

It took one stroke from Louis’ tight hand to have him spinning out of control. One slow; firm jerk and his body was rippling; now given over to fate as he throatily cried out against the intensity of pleasure surging from his body and splashing onto his belly and Louis’ hand with sticky release.

 

Breathing felt impossible in the fall; gasps sucked into his lungs as he slowly sagged back against the bed; Louis shifting between his legs.

 

“Come on me,” he begged; grasping Louis’ upper arm to drag him back in close.

 

Louis grimaced, but Harry squeezed his arm and gave him a begging look.

 

“Lou, please,” he growled.

 

Louis unzipped his jeans and tucked his boxers down enough to reach for his own dick; Harry’s eyes dipping there avidly to watch; their gazes clashing in an electrifying moment until Louis closed his eyes, lip bitten as he worked himself to his peak. Harry wrapped his fingers over his hand hesitantly; earning a surprised gasp and the pinnacle of Louis’ pleasure when he too unravelled; more hot stickiness falling between them.

 

Louis tried to move away again; Harry hooking his fingers into his crumpled vest.

 

“Hey, Shorty,” he rumbled in his deep voice; tugging him back. “Dunnea go.”

 

Louis looked at him for a long moment before curving himself around Harry’s side; leaning across to kiss his lips tenderly.

 

“You’re safe,” he promised. “Go to sleep, Princess.”

 

Harry fought off the sated heaviness of his eyelids; fearing that Louis would be gone again once he awoke; just like before. But the sensation of warmth and exhaustion was too much to overcome; his body turning to cuddle into Louis subconsciously.

 

“Dunnae go,” he mumbled again before he fell asleep.

 

//

 

Harry woke up curved on the bed; eyes blinking sleepily open to bring Louis into focus.

 

Louis was awake already; topless in sweatpants and repacking his weapons into his rucksack carefully; two pistols laid on the table beside his holster and two black padded vests.

 

Harry shifted his legs and stretched; yawning loudly with a lion-like roar.

 

“Morning, lazy-bones,” Louis greeted with a smile.

 

Harry may not get to wake up beside him; cuddling him in and rolling on top of him with sleepy kisses; but he thought that perhaps this ran a close second.

 

“Mornin’,” he replied thickly. “Time to face the music, huh?”

 

“We should head back so we can get the castle ready for tomorrow,” Louis suggested.

 

“Should,” Harry considered; running his hands down his body and frowning as he found himself both clean of his come and dressed in clean clothes. “Hm, I think we’ve got a fairy,” he mused with bemused pouty lips.

 

“I know you’re angry at your father but we need as much time as possible to make you safe for the ceremony,” Louis reminded him.

 

Harry glanced across the room at Louis; waiting until he had his attention and then he beckoned him with his hand.

 

“C’mere, Shorty,” he called with a rough timbre to his voice.

 

“You’re not going to sweet-talk me out of this,” Louis warned as he padded over bare-foot.

 

Harry turned to his side and reached for Louis’ arm; tugging him onto the bed and using his limbs to trap Louis on the mattress with a victorious smirk.

 

“I was thinkin’ more of kissin’ ye into submission,” he admitted; pressing a big, gentle kiss on Louis’ cheek.

 

Louis sighed and tried to unwrap himself.

 

“Think we’ve proved that theory works already…”

 

Harry paused; grinning into Louis’ face.

 

“Good t’know,” he murmured, Eskimo-kissing him.

 

Louis tilted his face and lifted a hand to press his palm to Harry’s jaw as he kissed him; slowly like he wanted to savour it.

 

“Happy now?” He rasped as Harry smacked his lips together; eyes shut blissfully.

 

“Aye,” Harry released him and rolled away; shorted thighs falling open to reveal the swell of his dick; semi-interested at the kiss alone. “Happy enough.”

 

Louis rolled from the bed to go back to his previous task.

 

“C’mon, Princess,” Louis cajoled. “Up and at ‘em.”

 

//

 

As they walked down the drive side by side, their arms brushed gently together; drawing a slow, appreciative smile onto Harry's lips.

 

“Will ye stick around after?” He asked, wary eyes settling on the smaller man.

 

Louis dipped his gaze to the ground.

 

“Sure,” he agreed; but the avoidance of eye-contact told Harry that Louis had already planned the outcome of their tryst. He planned to go on with his life exactly as he had before; servicing others and putting his own needs and wants last.

 

Harry felt defiance surge up inside him; wanting to argue with Louis that he deserved love, too. He deserved to love someone who loved him back. Only Harry didn’t know he could make that promise. He’d never been able to before.

 

He let out a heavy sigh and strode forward towards the gate.

 

//

 

“Liam!” Harry stormed up the main stairs towards his room; his butler apparently getting ready for the games even in Harry’s absence.

 

Anne had given Harry a long hug when he’d come into the house and his father had taken him into the study to chastise him for running away.

 

Luckily; both of his parents accepted that Louis was going to remain in residence until after the ceremony; something which Harry had stated firmly and refused to be drawn on. And Louis had gotten to work already; leaving Harry to prepare himself for the following day.

 

“Sir?” Liam moved into the hall to greet Harry; stilling as Harry swooped to give him a tight hug. “Um…Sir?”

 

Harry patted him on the back.

 

“I want’a wear the family cloth,” Harry stated emphatically. “Montgomery plaid,” he clarified. “Loueh needs a uniform too, I think we have some old stuff that should fit him…”

 

Liam gave him a  quizzical smile.

 

“Louis is dressing in plaid?”

 

“Aye,” Harry nodded. “He wants to disguise himself during the games.”

 

“What about dinner?” Liam queried as Harry walked into his room with Liam following closely behind.

 

Harry twisted with a frown.

 

“He can jus’ sit by me.”

 

Liam gave him a look.

 

“He’ll need to be dressed formally, Sir,” he hedged. “In fact it would rather look as though-“

 

“Fuck,” Harry  lamented, face creasing. “He’s goin’ta look like he’s my date.”

 

Liam smiled.

 

“It’s not a bad idea…”

 

“Aye, but he needs t’know what he’s lettin’ himself in for,” Harry grumbled. “Ye know what the idiots in this village are like.”

 

“I doubt he’ll stay around long enough to find out,” Liam quipped; earning a furrowed brow and pouted lip from Harry.

 

“Aye, thanks for remindin’ me,” he complained.

 

“That is unless he has a _reason_ to stay of course,” Liam amended gently.

 

“Dunnae think _I’m_ a good enough reason, do ye?” Harry enquired derisively.

 

“Sir-“

 

“I’m goin’ta dig out my sporrans,” Harry stated quietly. “Bring me the clan tartan,” he added authoritatively.

 

“Yes, sir,” Liam nodded his agreement with a sigh.

 

//

 

The Montgomery tartan came in shades of blue and green with a secondary composition in purple.

 

Harry preferred to wear softer yarns but the ceremony called for tradition and Harry wasn’t going to let his ancestors down. They had fought and died over the centuries to protect their land and the clan motto “Garde Bien” was derived from their originations in Normandy.

 

 _Watch Well_.

 

Harry smirked to himself as the translation of the motto flitted into his mind. Louis may as well be part of the clan, already.

 

He fingered a dark-patterned cloth; dark green background with dark blue; nearly black-looking checks and a single strip of red in large hatches printed over the pattern. A lighter green design rested beside it; royal blue criss-crosses, more simple and understated.

 

“I’ve paired up the patterns,” Liam spoke into the quiet as Harry glanced over the uniforms draped over the bed. “That would be Louis’ outift,” he explained of the lighter green Harry was lingering over. “Yours the darker version.”

 

Harry nodded, humming in satisfaction.

 

“Aye, these are perfect for the evenin’,” he commended.

 

For the daytime he drifted toward a brighter pattern; selecting a crested sporran to match.

 

“Ye think Loueh can get his gun in these?” Harry asked his butler with a smirk.

 

Liam smiled back but it was tinged with sorrow.

 

“Stay safe out there, Sir,” he said, quickly. “We’ll all be watching over you.”

 

“Not tha’ I deserve it,” Harry winked, picking up the suits to hang the chosen designs.

 

A knock at the semi-opened door brought both their gazes around.

 

“Can I come in?” Des asked.

 

Harry nodded, lifting up the hangers.

 

“I’ve picked the plaid,” he boasted.

 

“Ah, that one’s your grand-father’s,” Des moved into the room to lift up the pale green plaid Harry had chosen for Louis’ daytime outfit. “He wore this when he was a wee boy to his coming of age ceremony.”

 

“Wee thin thing, wasnae he?” Harry commented.

 

“Aye,” Des chuckled. “He were fast, though. Played rugby well.”

 

Harry nodded; remembering the stories his grandfather had shared with him about the sport.

 

“I was ne’er built for rugby,” he conceded softly.

 

“And this goes way back,” Des tugged at the dark pattern for Harry’s evening dress. “Aye, you’ll do well t’wear this one.”

 

Harry nodded, swallowing hard.

 

“Do ye think the village will grow to like me?”

 

Des smiled; rubbing his arm.

 

“They already do, laddie,” he assured. “I’ve got a gift for ye, actually,” he added, dipping a hand into his sporran as Harry stepped away to hang his clothes.

 

“Oh, aye, what’s this?” Harry teased. “A rulebook on how t’behave in public?”

 

“Bit late for that,” Des remarked jokingly. “Come and take a look,” he invited, showing Harry a small tattered square box.

 

Harry looked from his hand to his face.

 

“Da’?”

 

Des lifted the lid; revealing a miniature pewter sword; a circle situated underneath the handguard and inside was depicted the clan’s emblem- a woman with an anchor brandishing the head of their enemy.

 

Harry stared at it, speechless, then looked up at his father.

 

“Tha’s for me?” He whispered; stunned.

 

Des nodded.

 

“It’s to pin on your kilt,” Des confirmed. “Leave it for later on, you know,” he murmured. “The formal ceremony.”

 

“Aye,” Harry whispered, lifting it up to study it. “It’s beautiful.”

 

“It’s about time ye had the clan crest,” his father commented. “Look after it,” he added.

 

“I will,” Harry promised.

 

Des nodded; glancing behind him where Liam was clearing away the excess clothes.

 

“So, Louis will be going as your date tonight?” He asked.

 

Harry flicked his eyes toward Liam over his Dad’s shoulder; biting his lip. Liam sent him an encouraging smile. When he’d told his father that Louis was coming with him to the ceremony; he’d assumed his father would recognise that was out of professional duty and not personal obligation.

 

But his father hadn’t sacked Louis because of his suspicion that they were involved, Harry suddenly realised. In fact; his father hadn’t opposed the idea of them at all and _why was that?_

 

“That’s up to Loueh,” he broached gently.

 

“What’s up to me?” Came a bright, cutting voice; Louis strolling into the room authoritatively.

 

Harry couldn’t help his smile at the move; at the ownership Louis displayed in his confidence. He cleared his throat, lifting his chin.

 

“It’s up t’you whether ye goin’ta be my date tonight,” he repeated.

 

Louis’ confidence faltered only slightly; eyes slipping to Des.

 

“That’s not the…er…traditional thing is it?” He asked.

 

Des chuckled warmly.

 

“I’ve come to expect anything but tradition from my son, Mr. Tomlinson,” Des assured.

 

Louis looked at Harry then; eyes trailing over his green jumper and snug jeans.

 

“Do you want me to go as your date?” He asked.

 

Harry blinked, tucking his fluffy hair behind his ear. He’d left it to dry naturally after his morning shower and it was soft like cotton-candy; frizzy and annoying.

 

“Do ye want to?” Harry asked back, uncertain.

 

“Oh for goodness’ sake!” Des laughed; gaze volleying between the pair. “You’re going to the dinner together and that’s final,” he confirmed.

 

“But-” Louis twisted to challenged him but Des was already swiftly marching from the room.

 

“Take care of my son, Tomlinson!” He called jovially as he left the room; pulling up the door behind him.

 

Harry startled at the slamming of the door; eyes settling on Louis.

 

“Stay wi’ me tonight?” Harry asked.

 

Louis’ lips twisted into a faint smile.

 

“If you behave yourself,” he teased.

 

Harry softened into a smile but it didn’t reach his eyes. His heart pulsed heavily in his chest; skin prickling with a sensation he was used to feeling. But he wasn't accustomed to voicing the feeling aloud. He wasn’t used to having someone there that he trusted enough to hear his words.

 

“I’m scared,” he admitted quietly, lips parting to suck in a breath.

 

Louis moved towards him; arms sliding around him to comfort him; a sigh escaping his lips.

 

“It’ll be okay,” Louis assured.

 

Harry shivered; not feeling the same confidence. He’d never admitted out loud just how frightened he was; not just for himself but for everyone around him, too. What if someone else got hurt because of hatred aimed at _him_?

 

“Look after my parents,” Harry begged on a whisper.

 

“They’ve got protective vests, too,” Louis shared. “We’ll be watching you all, I promise.”

 

Harry leaned back and pressed a kiss against Louis’ temple.

 

“Look after yeself, too, Shorty,” he begged.

 

Louis nodded.

 

“Will do.”

 

But Harry knew that Louis would put himself in the line of fire if the need came and that scared him perhaps more than the fear of being targeted himself. Because he couldn’t lose Louis but he didn’t want to think about why he felt that way. He clutched him closer and prayed he didn’t have to lose him at all.

 

//

 

The grounds were teeming when Harry came out onto the field following breakfast.

 

He and Louis had shared a bed the night before but Harry felt over everything; that Louis was completely focused on his safety. And that was as reassuring as it was heart-melting but he still didn’t know if some of Louis' distance was more to do with disconnection for other reasons than professionalism.

 

If his father had thought anything strange about finding Louis leaving his room in the morning, he didn’t mention it to Harry over oatmeal; only stating that Louis’ Montgomery uniform suited him well.

 

Jerry and Niall were in attendance for the games, his best friend challenging him to a caber-toss as quickly as Harry threaded himself into the crowd; Louis hovering back slightly to watch their surroundings and declining the caber-toss with an eye roll.

 

“I’ll leave that to you rugged types,” he mused.

 

Harry twirled and flicked up the edge of his kilt with a wink, causing Niall to grin at the pair.

 

“Stop flirting!” He called. “We’ve got cabers to toss!”

 

“Who said I was flirting?” Harry complained as he stroked Jerry’s back while they walked along to the pitch where people were already starting in on the competition.

 

Harry laced his fingers together and pushed his palms outward; cracking his knuckles.

 

“Aye, I’m feelin’ lucky, Irish…”

 

“No chance, Harold,” Niall smirked; dusting his hands and readying himself for the game.

 

Harry dusted his hands more slowly; a hesitant smile slipping onto his lips. Jerry sat by him in silent support.

 

“Even your dog likes me better,” Harry goaded. “Do ye worst,” he added.

 

Niall bent forward to tuck the trunk of the wooden plinth over his shoulder, his face contorted in silent focus. He launched up; balancing the gigantic beam for a few seconds while he staggered forward; launching the log upwards only to watch it cartwheel and fall; his distance measured by the volunteers stewarding the field.

 

“Ten point zero two metres!” Yelled the official.

 

Harry smirked, settling his feet wide apart to ready himself for his own attempt. Movement of the crowd at the edges of his vision unsettled him slightly. He glanced around, checking where Louis was and Niall’s loyal dog; both standing close behind him with Niall. He let out a shaky breath and got back into place.

 

“Right, Irish,” he whispered. “Show ye how it’s done…”

 

Harry lifted the log and ran; throwing it quickly before he had a chance to overthink it. The log bounced and landed; the crowd applauding his effort. He dragged back his hair with long fingers; waiting for the measure to be finalised.

 

“Twelve point three!”

 

“Come on!” He roared; twisting to pump his fists; arms drawn taut in victory. “Twelve point three, Irish! Read it an’ weep!”

 

Niall flung himself into Harry’s arms; the pair of them jumping up and down; laughing happily while the crowd watched on with laughter.

 

“Niall lost, why’s he so happy?” Louis asked a local stood beside him.

 

“Harry’s personal best,” the lady smiled. “He usually tips the log over or manages a couple of metres at the most…”

 

Louis looked back towards the two celebrating men; startled to find Harry striding toward him to sweep him into a crushing hug.

 

“I fuckin’ did it,” he lifted Louis off his feet slightly; glancing at the woman beside him. “Good afternoon, Mabel!”

 

“Hello, Harry,” she smiled knowingly. “Good throw!”

 

“My best yet,” he winked, letting go of Louis.

 

“Showing off?” She enquired, glancing at Louis suggestively.

 

Harry hocked and rolled his eyes.

 

“Ne’er,” he promised with a faint blush.

 

There was Highland dancing on the podium; local girls and boys taking part in competitions while bagpipes were blown down the long walk to the copse. Tug of war was passionately fought out amongst the clans taking part; Niall jumping in to fill the place of a sick MacGregor; his help apparently winning them their round.

 

Harry watched the games play out around him; talking with the folk and opening up to their gentle, curious questions about his plans for the land. He shared his dreams of a school of some kind; his ideas for wildlife conservation and controlled hunting. He spoke of his passion for camping activities and outdoor survival classes. And he found that the large majority of the community liked his ideas and listened to him intently; voicing their own ideas alongside his.

 

It was when he sat down for afternoon tea with Mrs. Moore that the questioning turned more personal; her age-wise eyes studying him astutely as she prepared him a cream and jam scone from the tray in the middle of the table.

 

“So, dear young Harold,” she addressed. “Or do I call you Much Honoured?” She mused.

 

Harry huffed.

 

“I dunnae think that’s necessary, Nellie,” he scoffed.

 

“Aye, well, I thought it best to check,” she teased.

 

Harry took one of her hands between his once she delivered his scone.

 

“You’ll always be Nana in my eyes,” he admitted softly. “Even though we’re not related.”

 

Nellie smiled beautifully at him.

 

“And when were ye goin’ta tell me ye were in love, then?” She enquired; biting into her crumbly cake.

 

Harry choked on his mouthful of scone.

 

“Wha’?” He asked, gulping down the dainty cup of tea and immediately pouring another.

 

“In love, darlin’,” she winked. “I can see it in the blush of your cheeks…”

 

Nellie reached over to pinch his cheek to punctuate her words.

 

“I’m jus’ flushed from the hammer-throw,” he denied.

 

Nellie’s eyes drifted to behind where Harry was sat.

 

“He’s watching you, you know.”

 

Harry twisted; eyes focusing on Louis who was stood only a few feet away but not close enough to hear; he hoped. Louis tilted his head in silent question, lips moving to mouth ‘You okay?’ and Harry nodded, his heart thumping into his throat.

 

“Aye, that’s his job, to watch me,” he swallowed, focusing back on Nellie.

 

Nellie kept her eyes on him.

 

“I’ve known you since you were a wee boy,” she sighed. “Watched you try and grow up in a world you didn’t really fit in,” she observed. “But I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you look at him.”

 

Harry put down his tea-cup in defeat.

 

“His name is Loueh,” he shared softly.

 

“He looks at you the same way,” she assured.

 

Harry frowned, fingers fiddling with the plaid laid over his chest.

 

“He’s jus’ watchin’ me,” Harry murmured.

 

Nellie shook her head; smiling knowingly.

 

“No it’s the _way_ he looks, darlin’,” she assured, sipping her tea. “I see it.”

 

Harry turned to his right again, this time cautiously setting his eyes on Louis who was thankfully scoping the crowd; handsome features highlighted in the late afternoon sun; his Scottish uniform threading excitement through Harry’s veins.

 

“Aye, he looks handsome in the clan plaid, doesnae he?” He decided to humour Nellie since he couldn’t deny the obvious.

 

“Call him over,” she insisted. “He can have a scone.”

 

Harry chuckled and waved Louis over.

 

“All good?” Louis asked Harry first.

 

“My good friend Nellie Moore would like t'invite ye to afternoon tea,” Harry explained.

 

Louis looked over at the older lady with a  surprised smile.

 

“That’s very kind of you but-“

 

“Sit down, Louis,” she instructed; gesturing to a chair.

 

Louis glanced at Harry but he sat, gingerly, on a chair beside Harry.

 

“Scone?”

 

“Thank you,” he nodded, keeping the older woman’s gaze.

 

“What are your intentions with young Harold here?” She asked openly as she sliced a scone in half.

 

Louis opened his mouth but nothing came out at first.

 

“Erm…excuse me, ma’am?” He muttered.

 

“Well, you’re clearly _involved_ ,” she remarked, slathering clotted cream onto the cake followed by jam. “Are ye to make an honest man of him?”

 

Louis glanced at Harry; who couldn’t help snorting at his terrified look.

 

“That’s not how things work now, Nellie,” Harry explained gently. “And we’re not actually involved,” he added quickly afterwards, under his breath.

 

Louis watched him for a quiet, confused moment before he spoke.

 

“My intentions would be for Harry not come to any harm,” he pledged.

 

“Then you’ll be staying on at the castle?” Nellie pushed.

 

Louis swallowed, eyes flicking away the same way they always did when confronted with the future and what he saw of himself in it. Harry wondered if Louis knew how much it would hurt him to watch him leave.

 

“I’m not sure I’ll be needed after today,” Louis murmured.

 

Harry stared at him, brows furrowing.

 

“Ye could help me give the survival classes I’m planning on selling,” he suggested quickly. “An’ we can always use an extra pair o’hands around the place…”

 

Louis looked back at him then; eyes dipping to his mouth.

 

“You’d really want me to stick around?” He asked.

 

Harry twisted in his seat; eyes imploring Louis’.

 

“Aye I would,” he promised quietly, swallowing hard as he let his gaze slip to Louis’ mouth in return.

 

“Right that’s settled then,” Nellie’s voice brought them out of the moment. “When’s the wedding?”

 

Louis softened into a humoured smile; finishing his cake.

 

“I should check that the gate is secure,” he said as he stood up. “Lovely to meet you, Ms. Moore.”

 

Harry went back to his tea with a thoughtful frown. _Maybe Louis didn’t want to leave after all?_


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear All  
> I had chaptered 10 and 11 both as 10, so actually, there is an extra chapter! (Yay?)  
> Please be kind to me, I am not very good at writing action scenes :(
> 
> Ang

“Fuck it,” Harry hissed as the sword-shaped pin from his father stabbed him in the knee. He tossed it away with a rumpled frown; a gentle knock sounding on the door.

 

“You ready, Princess?” Louis called through.

 

“Nay, I’ll ne’er be ready,” Harry grumbled as Louis opened the door.

 

His blue eyes flicked to the pin on the carpet.

 

“What happened?” He asked, moving inside the room.

 

Harry’s breath caught a little. Louis had worn the pale green plaid that morning; quite casually with a shirt but no waistcoat or jacket and now that he was dressed up smartly with both; Harry could admit he saw something else in the handsome man. Not just an escort. A groom, perhaps.

 

He snorted at his own fanciful imaginings and pointed accusingly at the pin.

 

“Tha’ evil thing stabbed me,” he announced huffily.

 

Louis’ lips twisted in trying not to smile and he walked over to retrieve the offending item.

 

“Where’s it going?” He asked only.

 

Harry huffed.

 

“On the hem of my wee kilt,” he stated slowly; thickening his accent.

 

Louis looked up at him.

 

“Not this again,” he mused of their walk in the woods when Harry had teased him about Louis giving a blow-job while he was knelt down pinning his kilt together.

 

Harry’s tension suddenly whipped loose; his dimples peeking in his cheeks.

 

“Aye, it’s my master plan,” Harry confided.

 

Louis paused; biting his lip.

 

“Maybe after today-“ he swallowed; eyes sweeping up to meet Harry’s.

 

Harry nodded; acknowledging his unspoken words. Even without a contract between them, Louis still wanted to do right by him. He wanted to focus on his job; even when he wasn’t being paid to carry it out. He’d already asked Louis if he could stay a while after the ceremony was over and he hoped the smaller man would give him the chance to talk.

 

“I cannae fuckin’ pin it on,” he said of the family heirloom.

 

His hands were shaky and he felt strangled in his shirt and tie; hair neatly French-plaited away from his face.

 

“Stand still,” Louis coaxed gently; fixing Harry into place while he got onto one knee.

 

“Knock, knock!” Came Anne’s prim voice at the half-open door, Harry’s head jerking up to greet the visitor and his mouth falling open as his mother surveyed the scene. “Am I interrupting?” She enquired smoothly.

 

Louis shot her a grin.

 

“I’m just pinning on the crest,” Louis waved the pin at her.

 

“Not proposin’,” Harry added to clarify.

 

“I’m sure, darling,” Anne smiled blandly. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Sick,” Harry mumbled.

 

“You’ll be fine,” she promised. “You have your speech?”

 

Harry hummed; patting his sporran.

 

“Aye, got it safely tucked away,” he promised.

 

Louis went about attaching the sword pin whilst Harry chatted with his mum.

 

“We have plenty of security on site,” Anne assured. “And Louis will stay close by, I’m sure…”

 

Louis got up from the carpet; admiring his work. Harry lifted his kilt to flash his smooth knee with a dimpled grin.

 

“I’m goin’ta do the can-can on stage,” he joked. “Do ye think I should put undies on, Ma?”

 

“Oh, Harold,” Anne rolled her eyes with a fond huff. “Please behave yourself,” she begged.

 

Harry cackled as Louis shot him a smirk.

 

“I’ll try and keep him from flashing the crowd,” he offered.

 

Harry slid him a knowing, smug grin, waiting until his Mother had kissed his cheek and given him a tight hug before he turned toward his bodyguard.

 

“Ye want me t’save the flashin’ for ye, Shorty?” He asked in that rumbly voice of his.

 

Louis grasped his elbow and leaned up to press a kiss against his cheek.

 

“Good luck tonight, Princess.”

 

Harry’s smile slipped into something more pensive.

 

“Stay close?” He asked and Louis nodded.

 

“Promise.”

 

//

 

Most of the community had put on their best to enjoy the evening's festivities.

 

Des and Anne had decided to serve the four course dinner outside as opposed to the grand hall, a giant marquee raised and decorated in a swathe of flowers.

 

Tables were planned out and a stage had been built for Harry to walk up and collect the documents that would seal his future. He glanced around for Louis; finding the other man carefully unthreading some pink peonies from a standing arrangement; his blue eyes lingering on Harry’s green ones when he found himself caught.

 

“I thought these would look nice in your hair,” he rasped.

 

Harry blinked, nodding slightly as he fiddled with his cufflinks.

 

“Aye, pretty in pink,” he managed to husk out. “I remember causing one or two fights over tha' .”

 

Louis smirked, walking towards him and dipping behind him, causing Harry to frown in confusion.

 

“Are ye not goin'ta tuck it behind my ear, Lou?”

 

Louis’ hand settled at the side of his waist with a light squeeze.

 

“I’ve got sisters, remember.  I know how to do this...”

 

Harry waited patiently while Louis poked the stems of the flowers into his braid; the distinct electronic click of a camera going off behind him.

 

“See?” Louis showed him the shot he had taken of the blooms in his hair; artfully arranged with a large wide open flower at the crown and two smaller, still blooming ones threaded in a curve underneath.

 

“Aye I can see ye good at tha’,” Harry murmured.  “Maybe ye can turn a profit on it?”

 

Louis rolled his eyes and brushed off Harry’s jacket of the fallen pollen.

 

“No matter what anyone else out there thinks tonight; you look incredible, Harold,” he assured softly.

 

Harry gazed at him, wanting those words to mean something; wanting Louis’ ‘ _Maybe after today_ ’ to mean something too.

 

“Ye always did like my elevens,” Harry accused in a deep, warm voice. “And my pretty Princess side,” he added with a knowing smile.

 

Louis stepped closer to cradle his jaw while they nestled in a secretive cove at the side of the marquee; both hesitant to walk inside.

 

“You've worked it out,” Louis whispered, thumb sliding over his cheek gently. “You know all my secrets.”

 

Harry lifted a hand to wrap it around Louis' wrist, tilting his face into his palm.

 

“Thank ye for keepin' me safe,” Harry mumbled. “I promise t'keep ye safe too.”

 

Louis stared at him and Harry hoped he knew he wasn’t talking about his physical body but all of the secrets he had bared himself; his desires and fears and all of the other things that he had never shared before.

 

“We should go,” Louis stepped away, hand dropping from Harry’s face, clasped still in his long fingers until he relented his grip with a wistful twist of his lips.

 

“Aye,” Harry nodded and led the way.

 

//

 

 

“I see you’ve added flowers!” Eldridge McFarron commented jovially as he shook Harry’s hand between two of his own.

 

Harry smirked, glancing at Louis.

 

“Aye this wee one thought it a good look...”

 

Eldridge patted Louis' shoulder.

 

“Ye did well, son,” the older man winked as he moved to sit at his designated table.

 

“Nellie!” Harry bent to pull his favourite person into a hug.

 

“Dunye look handsome?” Nellie looked him over, reaching for Louis and pulling him forward by the hand. “Ye look stunning the pair of ye...”

 

Harry rolled his eyes and tried not to imagine that tonight was actually him getting to take Louis around to show him off; to boast about his most valuable find and revel for just a little while in the idea that Louis might like him back. Maybe _more_ than liked him.

 

 _Maybe_.

 

 “Lou is a handsome devil in the plaid,” Harry commented, smoothing a hand over his nervous stomach. “I couldnae even get the pin on my kilt,” he lamented.

 

Louis’ hand settled in the dip of his lower spine, supportively.

 

“I helped with the pin,” he shared with Nellie. “Not sure I’ve got the legs for this kilt like Harry though...”

 

Harry snorted.

 

“You’ve got fine legs, Shorty,” he assured, turning his head to wink at him. “Do ye play footie at all?”

 

“I dunnae dare t'ask,” Nellie inserted into their exchange.

 

“Look after him for me,” Louis told the older lady. “I’m going to check a few things.”

 

Harry twisted to give Louis a pouty frown.

 

“I thought ye were goin'ta stay close by,” he accused softly.

 

Louis swallowed.

 

“There’s six guards watching this room. See that guy there?” Louis pointed to a smartly dressed man standing about six feet away; unmistakably a security guard. “I’m going to check in with him. I’ll be two minutes.”

 

Harry still reached forth to fasten his fingers into Louis' suit jacket; brows furrowing as he considered the reality of letting go. He didn’t know who he was more afraid for-himself or Louis.

 

“Be careful,” Harry murmured before he let go, features clearing as he sat down beside Nellie.

 

//

 

Louis kept his word and settled in the seat beside Harry just as Anne and Des  made it to the table from their social rounds; both relaxing and sipping wine once it had been poured.

 

A live band played on a second smaller stage to the side; space for dancing cleared and revellers already merrily taking part; Harry watching them with wistfulness lining his eyes.

 

“Go for a spin,” Des suggested. “Loosen up before ye big speech.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes.

 

“Not sure prancin’ about the dancefloor will help, Da',” he mused; wide shoulders tense with expectation settled on them.

 

“Mr. Tomlinson  will go with you,” Anne suggested with flicker of her fingers that appeared dismissive.

 

If his mother knew what he and Louis had gotten up to in the cabin then she wouldn't be nearly as nonchalant.  Harry couldn’t help his filthy smirk.

 

“Ye not suggestin' I invite a gentleman onto the dance floor are ye, mother? In front of th'Govenors an' all?” He scoffed.

 

Anne glanced at Louis.

 

“It’s about time we embraced it isn’t it?” She asked; looking right into Louis' steady blue gaze.

 

Louis blinked, licking his lips almost as if he was uncomfortable with the attention.  Harry hocked and huffed a little, leaning forward to address his mother.

 

“Lou didnea come here to make ethical protests,” Harry mused. “He didnea sign up to bein' the gay Laird's date,” he added ruefully.

 

Anne lifted a brow at Louis and Harry frowned at the gesture; uncertainty shimmering over him.

 

“Wha's goin' on?” He asked openly; volleying his gaze between them.

 

Louis cleared his throat and broke his eye contact with Ann.

 

“Let’s talk about it later, H,” he murmured.

 

Harry frowned, glancing at his father only to find him chuckling at something Eldridge had said, Nellie wrapped up in the two older men.

 

“Am I bein' made into a fool?” Harry asked, skin prickling as he squeezed his unfolded napkin in his lap.

 

“Darling, no!” Ann laughed, reaching across the table to cup the hand fisted on top of it. “Don’t look so wounded, Harold.”

 

“I ne'er get told wha’s goin' on,” he muttered. “I’m jus' one big fuckin’ gay joke...”

 

Louis pursed his lips and flapped his own napkin off his thighs; tossing it onto the table as he rose sharply.

 

“Shall we have that dance?” He asked.

 

The table quietened of chatter; the older generation carefully watching the two young men.

 

“Aye so ye can tick some equal rights box,” Harry grumbled.

 

Louis glanced around. Coast clear.

 

“C'mon, Princess,” he soothed. 

 

Harry huffed.

 

“Go on, Harry!” Des encouraged.  “Show them legs off, laddie!”

 

Harry snorted and rolled his eyes; reluctantly pushing his seat back to stand up.

 

“Aye alright, if ye insist,” He lamented, flicking a look at Louis.

 

Louis carefully guided him to the dance floor.

 

//

 

“So what’s goin' on wi' ye and my mother?” Harry asked once he and Louis were back in a familiar dancing pose; moving slowly to the instrumental music playing.

 

Louis sighed, tipping his head back and readjusting his earpiece, body twisting so he could glance across the room with a concentrated frown; attention momentarily lost to the room.

 

Harry waited until Louis turned back to face him.

 

“When I left, I-“ Louis paused with a sigh. “I told your father something,” he hedged, nervously flicking his eyes away; his thick lashes swooping onto his cheekbones.

 

Harry watched them lift up again; revealing earnest blue eyes.

 

“What did ye tell him?” Harry wondered, nestling in a bit closer to Louis' warmth.

 

Louis’ fingers tickled the flowers in his hair.

 

“That I did, in fact, want to be the gay Laird's date,” he murmured, paraphrasing Harry’s words.

 

Harry jerked his chin down.

 

“What?”

 

“Your father was going to let me finish my contract,” Louis explained. “But I told him I couldn’t . And that he should say it was because of the security breach,” he added.

 

“Why couldnae ye finish the contract?” Harry whispered, thick arms sliding around Louis to cradle him; coaxing him into a perfect kissing position if Louis allowed himself to recognise it.

 

Harry smirked. _Louis wouldn't notice_. He had plenty more time to entrap him completely.

 

“We both know why,” Louis mused. “The same reason I climbed a mountain instead of getting the first train home...”

 

Harry's nostrils flared.

 

“Think I might need my inhaler,” he mumbled.

 

Louis leaned to his side where he had twisted his Sporran to rest against his hip while they danced. He unzipped it and produced the canister of spray.

 

Harry stared at him like he'd just produced a new born child.

 

“I was kiddin’,”he smirked. “What I meant was that I cannae kiss ye here, Shorty,” he complained.

 

“Didn’t realise kisses were on the menu,” Louis quipped, putting the inhaler away.

 

“Every day,” Harry told him suddenly, voice deep and unwavering. “All day menu,” he added with a swallow.

 

Louis’ eyes widened at the implication; breath catching for a second but then he moved and Harry went to move with him; not realising that his sharp twist out of Harry's arms was in reaction to something occurring out of Harry’s eye-line.

 

“Stay here,” Louis told him firmly, turning back only to gain Harry’s agreement.

 

“Aye,” Harry murmured, letting go of Louis’ jacket only when he tugged himself out of Harry’s hold.

 

//

 

Louis had known that Stephen and Christopher were on the guest list but he hadn’t liked the fact any more than he liked the man responsible for so much of the downfall Harry had suffered.

 

Watching the man walk into the marquee as though he owned the place was enough to have Louis hot-footing it across the grass to challenge the beast of a man who claimed to be _family_.

 

Stephen paused on seeing Louis marching towards him; Louis stopping just short of treading on his toes.

 

“I know who you are,” Louis accused. “And I don’t mean your name or how you’re related to Harry; I mean I know the ugly part inside you which you hide; carefully concocting mischief to bring Harry down.”

 

Stephen merely flared his nostrils, back straightening.

 

“Who is this guy?” Christopher asked his father.

 

Louis flicked his gaze onto the son of the man he abhorred.

 

“I’m your worst nightmare,” he smiled sweetly. “If either of you so much as _thinks_ about stepping out of line, I will take you down,” he promised. “Shoot to kill.”

 

Christopher slid his father a bemused glance.

 

“What the fuck's he talking about?”

 

Stephen lifted his chin.

 

“Nothing important,” the older man dismissed easily.

 

Louis let out an unamused chuck of air.

 

“It’s _deadly_ important,” he warned. “I'm not about to let anything happen to Harry no matter how close you are...”

 

Stephen smiled in that cool, smug way which infuriated Louis should he let the emotion show. He knew better than to lower himself to that level.

 

“We already know exactly where your loyalties lie, Tomlinson. We came to represent the family, you can stop twitching your trigger finger and go back to making out with my nephew in a dark corner somewhere,” Stephen brushed by him to enter the room.

 

Louis headed straight back to the head table with a dark look and tense shoulders.

 

//

 

“Brother,” Des greeted Stephen with a curt nod of his head as the younger of the two approached the table.

 

Harry went to stand, if not for Louis sliding into the seat beside him and smoothing a hand over his thigh; something Des didn’t miss.

 

“Do you have a moment, Desmond?” Stephen murmured, leading Des away.

 

“What is it?” Des asked as they gathered by the slope leading down into the lake.

 

“I have bad news,” Stephen sighed.

 

Des stared at him.

 

“You've caused a great deal of upset for th'whole family,” Des accused. “If you’ve got bad news ye shouldn’t expect much sympathy.”

 

“Christopher is getting a divorce,” Stephen told him anyway. “Apparently Cynthia caught him in bed with their housemaid and she’s going to expose him to the whole of Eaglesham.”

 

Des shrugged.

 

“If he's cheatin' then he deserves it,” he mused.

 

“You don’t understand what this will do to him,” Stephen implored.  “He'll be ruined in polite society. He'll never be able to work his way up from this.”

 

Des looked his brother in the eye when he enunciated;

 

“Tough titties.”

 

“Being part of Montgomery Castle would give him some hope,” Stephen posed. “Something to work towards. Perhaps he could stay in the gatehouse until the scandal blows over...”

 

Des hocked in protest.

 

“The trouble you’ve bought us an' ye think we'll help ye out now?” He asked.  “You’ve got some face, brother. My son has been through enough. He's earned his title. Christopher hasnae done anthin' to deserve my help. I’m sorry but ye best take leave,” Des suggested.

 

Stephen blinked, surprised, swallowing hard.

 

“As you wish. We'll leave directly after the presentation.”

 

“Aye an' dunnae bother coming back,” Des muttered as he strode away.

 

//

 

“Fear is a prison of our own making,” Harry lifted his chin to look out on the audience as he swallowed thickly; his speech scrawled on crumpled paper hastily flattened out on the lectern in front of him. He braced it with his hands to hide their tremor. “And yet there are many contributin’ factors to feelin' that fear. What I’ve learned over the last few years is that courage; _bravery_ , is the hardest trait to show. Ye might feel it, deep inside; ye might have a strong heart an’ a sound mind but bein' able to get out there and show folk who ye _really_ are an' what ye really made of...that's the hard part.”

 

“Go on Harry!” A deep male voice whooped; Harry’s eyes scanning the crowd; drifting around the front table to settle on Eldridge who had stood up to support him vocally.

 

“Some of ye,” he smiled warmly. “Have given me that courage,” he acknowledged. “A great many of ye, in fact,” he added, tipping his chin to Nellie and then lingering his gaze on Niall.

 

“An' that’s what gives me the fire to make this place great,” he continued. “My parent’s legacy is more important than _anythin'_ , he assured, smirking a little. “Even more than dancin' on tables.”

 

The audience laughed with him gently.

 

“An’ anyway,” he took a deep breath and twisted a little to his right; settling his eyes on Louis whose profile was strong in the light on stage; his cool gaze flitting amongst the crowd while he clasped his hands in front of his body; fingertips grazing his Sporran.  “Ah'm lookin' to settle doon, now,” he murmured.  “Ah'm lookin’ to make a difference.”

 

Louis’ gaze flicked to him when he realised Harry's attention was on him; the crowd fidgeting to stare between them. Harry held the steady blue with his green and smiled softly.

 

“I’ll be doin’ it with painted nails and flowers in my hair if tha's okay,” he smiled, just for Louis who softened his face enough to twist his lips into a fond quirk.

 

Louis pressed the tip of his forefinger and thumb together in a circle; earning a delighted grin from Harry.

 

“It’s okay,” he said into the microphone; the crowd applauding his candidness.

 

Des stepped forward from the back of the stage with a sheaf of discoloured papers bound with a newbuck string.

 

“Harreh,” he murmured. “Harold,” he added more formally with a clearance of his throat. “I hereby gift ye the deeds of this land which we’ve undertaken to sign in wet ink into your sole name.  You will be known from this day forward as The Much Honoured Harry Styles; Laird of Montgomery,” he confirmed. “Congratulations!”

 

Harry moved to wrap his Dad into a hug; laughing into his ear.

 

“Should have worn my best dress!”

 

Des patted him on the back.

 

“Save it for ye first May Dance,” he suggested.

 

Harry pulled back to give him a blinding smile.

 

“Aye,” he breathed as he hugged the papers to his chest.

 

The crowd erupted into lively applause, whoops and holders filling the night air as Harry carefully made his way down the steps leading off the stage, Louis close by him with a tense energy that Harry picked up on.

 

“Wha’s wrong, Lou?” He turned to ask him as the well-wishers closed in.

 

Louis frowned tightly.

 

“Trouble at the bar,” he sighed, agitated.

 

Harry's gaze drifted to where a few patrons were shoving each other aggressively.

 

“Ye should go an' help out,” he assured. “I'm goin' to be wrapped up in this lot for a wee while anyway.”

 

Louis narrowed his dark gaze on him.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

Harry nodded, already being tugged into the waiting swarm by Nellie of all people.

 

“Alright,” Louis sighed, speaking into his radio to request another guard to take over his position.

//

 

“Ah'm just nipping to th'dunny,” Harry told his father as he strode back to the table after a good hour of being monopolised by the locals.

 

It was a nice feeling; having their support but he needed a breather from the crowds of bodies and overwhelming excited chatter surrounding him.

 

“Take a guard,” Des told him. “Looks like Louis might be held up for a while...”

 

Harry peered across the room to where the bar brawl had grown into a protest; Liam and Niall helping Louis to calm the locals down enough to reseat them.

 

Harry wondered what had caused the tension and let out a sigh. The flowers in his hair probably. Or dancing with Lou. Both of which he refused to regret, his tummy warming deliciously in memory of Louis' gentle touch both with his braids and in his arms.

 

As he walked towards the men’s toilets he tried not to think about how it would feel to have Louis’ hot palm sliding over his smooth skin again. He wondered if Louis would kiss his thighs? Lick them? Part them and nudge between them or hold him down so hard he couldn't move. _Fuck._

_Would he—Fuck them?_

Harry tried to regulate his breathing; the thundering of his heart leaving him breathless as he strolled across the room; the pleats of his kilt swinging with each move; the layers of wool flicking up and settling attractively around his knees.

 

“Hello, nephew...” the familiar wheedling voice murmured in his ear.

 

Harry turned; his guard standing two feet away and Stephen somehow rushing up beside him; something hard digging into Harry’s ribs.

 

“Sir, if you can move away,” Nigel shifted to drive an arm between their bodies only Harry’s heartbeat had kicked up an entirely different rhythm to the one it had been beating a moment ago.

 

Sweat beaded on his stubble-smattered upper lip, his heart pattering wildly in his chest.

 

“He’s got a gun,” he murmured, eyes flaring as he glanced over his shoulder at Nigel.

 

Nigel's hand went to his own hand-piece but Stephen only smirked.

 

“If you touch it, I’ll pull the trigger,” he warned simply and Harry’s face creased with the sudden knowledge that this wasn’t going to end well.

 

Everyone knew it, his Uncle wanted the property and despite the intense security surrounding them, none of them had expected _this._

 

Of course the _hitman_ couldn’t get into the castle. But Harry hadn’t dreamed that his Uncle hated him enough to shoot him, himself.

 

“Start walking,” Stephen told him and he shuddered; one of the peonies working loose from his hair and rolling off his shoulder to land softly on the ground

 

Harry swallowed as Stephen trod on it and twisted his heel.

 

“Walk, Harold,” the other man repeated and Harry squeezed his eyes shut and did as he was told.

 

//

 

“How far do ye think ye can get?” Harry wondered as Nigel's footsteps behind them offered the only comfort to his frantic heart.

 

“Far enough to have you sign over the Deeds into my name,” Stephen supplied. “My solicitor told me that the wet ink signature you and Desmond are doing in the morning is merely a formality. The legal rights to this land are already in your name.”

 

“Aye an' they’re stayin' in my name,” Harry pointed out. “Unless ye really plan on firin' that gun,” he mused.

 

Stephen's grip on his arm tightened, manhandling Harry onto the pebbled drive into the dark unknown.

 

“I’ve got my solicitor waiting at the office,” he explained. “All you have to do is sign. We both know that the people don’t want a cross-dressing Laird!” Stephen spat. “Christopher's life is in ruins and you can help change that.“

 

“Ye tried to _kill_ me,” Harry accused in a sharp hiss. “Ye set me up with an asshole whole sold his story an' you paid for some bastards to kidnap me when I was a wee laddie. Isnae that enough for ye?”

 

“You haven’t told your father though have you?” Stephen mused. “Because you have no proof! Only the mad mutterings of that ridiculous bodyguard!”

 

“I havenea told him becau' it would break his heart,” Harry dug his heels into the cobbled stones stubbornly. “He doesnea deserve to know what an asshole his brother is.”

 

“Hey, where are you going?!” Louis' sharp voice sounded at the top of the drive and Stephen shoved Harry into motion.

 

“Keep walking,” he instructed, poking Harry sharply in the ribs with the tip of the pistol.

 

Louis came running down the drive after him; oblivious to the threat held right by his beating heart.

 

“Careful! He’s got a gun!” Nigel called out as Louis approached.

 

“D-Don’t!” Harry begged, pained, as he held up a hand to stop him but Louis was already lifting his Magnum and circling the pair of them, three bullets zipping into the night before Harry had even gotten out his words. “Fuck!” He tried to duck as Stephen pointed the gun away from his body and towards Louis.

 

_Fuck!_

Towards _Louis._

“Lou, no!” He roared as Stephen drew back the hammer of his handgun and fired the first shot; hitting Louis’ shoulder. He cocked the hammer and fired again but Harry twisted to elbow him sharply in the ribs; sending his shot into the bushes.

 

“Get down!” Louis yelled; vying for a clear target whilst Harry grappled with his uncle; the gun precariously aimed mid-air; potentially dangerous to all of them but the slick zips of direct shots hit Stephen in the chest, knocking him backwards.

 

Harry ducked and was hauled away by Nigel under the cover of his bulky body; more guards rushing to the scene to apprehend the fallen gunman but what happened next would stay vivid in Harry’s mind.

 

Stephen rolled up off the ground in the seconds before he was overwhelmed; gun aimed not at Harry but at the small man staring at Harry with a hitched breath; eyes distracted from the target by his concern.

 

“Loueh!” His scream wasn't fast enough; wasn’t any match for the bullet that Stephen released; collapsing back as the team surged in; panic setting in around them.

 

“Loueh?” Harry gasped, scrabbling up from where he'd been wrestled to the ground for cover; his shaky legs not quite quick enough to beat the thundering hoards of security men.

 

“Fuck!” Harry burst into frantic tears, trying to tear through the scrum. “Help him!” He begged. “Call a fuckin’ ambulance!”

 

“Hey, hey...” Niall's arms wrapped around his waist and hauled him back. The entire crowd were surging down onto the drive to view the melee.

 

“I need t'see him!” Harry sobbed.

 

“Shh, Haz,” Niall soothed. “Let the men do their stuff...”

 

“Did ye see where it hit him?” Harry begged. “He had his vest on,” he sucked in a hysterical breath. “He’s goin' to be okay, aye?”

 

Several moments later an ambulance pulled up on the drive; the swarm of guards breaking away to allow the medics through and it was in that moment that Harry’s world crash- landed. His knees gave way underneath him and he collapsed to the ground heavily; face distraught.

 

Louis was bleeding. He was _covered_ in blood, the source seeming to be his chest as the medical team stabilised him and Harry couldn’t make sense of it; couldn’t understand why he was so badly hurt.

 

“H-his vest,” he implored Niall, clutching into his shirt as his friend knelt in front of him to help him up.

 

“Looks like he got around the bullet proof,” Niall murmured quietly as Harry sucked his tear- coated lips one by one; the salty taste stinging the back of his throat.

 

“Wh-what?”

 

“Harry it'll be okay,” Niall promised blindly. “Let's get you washed up and we’ll head down to the hospital...”

 

Harry shook his head and stubbornly surged to his feet to stumble towards the stretcher Louis was laid on; now being lifted and carried to the back of the ambulance.

 

“I want t’ride wi’ him,” he sniffled, fingers running through his half-ragged hair and tugging out the broken petals of the last remaining flower.  He felt the hot wash of fresh tears burn his cheeks, his chest smarting in shock.

 

“Get him out of here!” Des' voice boomed across the paddock as security cleared the area.

 

Stephen was shut into a second ambulance and driven away while Des strode forward and gave Harry a hard hug.

 

“There’s somethin’ I have t’tell ye,” his Dad murmured.

 

Harry blinked at him steadily.

 

“Aye, Loueh left becau' he didnea want t’fuck it up,” he mused of his contract.

 

“He didnea want fuck it up with _you_ ,” Des assured. “But that's not what I was goin'ta say...”

 

Harry sniffled again; shaking in the aftermath of the ordeal.

 

“Ye great, great, great grandfather was a royal,” Des told him. “The papers have been kept in the vault for hundreds of years and I ne'er cared for it,” his father admitted. “But ye can use it if ye want to get into Parliament,” he suggested. “Change some of those ancient laws about same sex marriage, maybe?”

 

Harry stared at him, skin pale and eyes hollow, flicking to the ambulance to check they weren’t leaving without him.

 

“Tha's why Uncle Steve wanted the land?” Harry realised slowly; his panic fogging his rational mind. “To get into Government?”

 

“Aye,” Des murmured. “I hoped he’d listen t'me when I told him that ye were the one who deserved it. I had no idea he'd actually-“

 

“Lou told ye!” Harry accused then, distraught.  “He told ye what the man was capable of and ye just dismissed him! He wouldnae be laying in the back of tha' ambulance if ye had believed him!”

 

Des nodded gravely, reaching out to squeeze Harry’s arm.

 

“Ye wouldnae have fallen in love wi' him had I sent him away, sonny,” he countered quietly.

 

Harry stared at him, confused; face creased in disbelief as to what his words could mean but the firm voice of the medic brought his attention away from his father.

 

“Pulse is steady,” the medic called. ”You coming with us?”

 

Harry nodded and gave his Dad another tight hug.

 

“I cannae live without him,” he whispered; the admission as frightening to himself as to his father.

 

“We'll follow you to the hospital,” he promised, helping Harry to climb into the back of the ambulance where he settled with his terrified gaze settled on Louis.

 

//

 

Harry wasn’t a man who could sit quietly by and watch things happen. Patience was never his strong suit and everyone who knew him; knew that too.

 

Did Louis know that?

 

He stormed up and down the waiting room in a perpetual pace; hair drawn up into a messy bun and his formal suit deconstructed to leave just his kilt and a white t-shirt he’d worn over the bullet proof vest and underneath his shirt and jacket.

 

His mother and father sat patiently; quiet in the corner and Niall looked up every few laps Harry took, asking him if he wanted a drink or something to eat.

 

Stephen was on life support; the deadly wounds inflicted by the guards causing serious harm and Harry knew his Dad was worried about him despite his misguided intentions.

 

Louis had been shot twice in the chest; the first shot to his shoulder repelled by the vest and leaving only bruising to his upper lung. The second shot had entered his body and damaged his esophogus; an emergency endoscopy performed to identify the extent of that damage and repair it as quickly as possible.  Luckily the bullet had missed his spine and had been removed from his chest; meaning no further damage had occurred from an exit wound but Harry didn’t feel any better about the outcome.  Louis still had to make it through surgery and recovery and even then Harry would carry the suffocating guilt with him.

 

His family in London had been notified and were on their way. Harry felt a strange kind of uncertainty shiver over his skin. Would Louis want him to meet them? In what capacity? As his client? Or as something more? Would Louis even still feel the same way knowing Harry’s family had put him in deliberate danger; giving Stephen the benefit of the doubt where it was clearly not earned?

 

“Fuck,” Harry took a shuddering breath.

 

Niall looked up.

 

“What’s up?”

 

“I’m the last fuckin' person he'll want t'see,” Harry hocked. “I’m the reason he’s here at all. How am I goin'ta look his parents in the face and tell them?”

 

Des got up to soothe him while Niall went to get a hot drink.

 

“Son, I’m the one they should be angry at,” he murmured.  “I thought I had it under control. I was wrong.”

 

Harry sniffed; emotional tears coming to his eyes.

 

“Wha’s takin' so long?” He whispered.

 

Niall brought a hot chocolate to press into his hand.

 

“Why don’t I run ye home to shower up and change?” He suggested. “He won’t be out of surgery for a bit.”

 

Harry shook his head stubbornly.

 

“I’m not leavin’.”

 

Niall glanced at Anne.

 

“Why don’t you fetch some fresh clothes for us all?” Anne suggested. “I’ll ask Liam to have a few things ready and we can use the showers here.”

 

“Alright,” Niall nodded. “I have to feed Jerry anyway.”

 

Harry walked over to sit beside his mother; drawn into her soothing embrace as his sniffles melted into sobs.


	11. Chapter 11

Clean of the grime he had been itchy with in the aftermath of the shooting; Harry pulled on the soft grey jogging pants Liam had sent for him to wear. Along with them he'd packed a simple fresh white vest and Harry’s favourite cardigan; the one he’d worn the day Louis arrived.

 

He might have picked something softer to wear; perhaps his lilac jumper or even a fleece jumper from his pyjama drawer but the thick knit was comforting somehow; a reminder of how it all began. Harry had been indignant at the suggestion he needed a guard. He'd struggled to accept Louis' help and he’d denied his fear. Louis had let him feel implicitly safe, both physically and emotionally in exposing his true desires.

 

Harry wanted to kiss him again. He wanted to curl him into his arms and feel him weaken. He wanted to feel Louis' fingers in his hair and upon his skin; touching him gently or firmly or however he wanted to.

 

“Peonies!” He burst out of the shower room to announce to Niall.

 

“What?”

 

“C-can ye find some peonies?” He pleaded. “A bouquet, maybe?”

 

Niall arched a brow.

 

“Sure, Haz, whatever you want...”

 

“Thank you,” he breathed as Niall got up to go in search of his flowers.

 

Harry’s brows drew together as a couple were led toward the waiting area; harried looking and if Harry had judged rightly;

 

“Mr and Mrs Tomlinson?” He guessed.

 

The nurse smiled warmly at Harry’s deduction.

 

“I’ve explained everything to them,” Jamie assured. “I said they should sit with you.”

 

“Aye,” Harry nodded, offering his hand to the petite woman firstly; her kind features reminiscent of Louis’. “I’m Harry,” he offered softly, overwhelmed.

 

The woman burst into tears, stepping forward to grasp Harry to her, his eyes drifting the greying gentleman beside her. The man offered him a tired smile.

 

“I’m Mark and this is Jo,” he introduced. “We know all about you,” he added gently.

 

Harry hesitantly wrapped his arms around the woman now sobbing against him.

 

“Ah’m so sorry,” he sighed, sending Mark a pained grimace. “Ah’m sorry I let him get hurt...”

 

Des got up from his seat and led Anne into the middle of the waiting room.

 

“If there’s any blame to be held; it’s on my shoulders,” Des offered. “I’m Harry’s father, Des and this is my wife, Anne. We hired Louis to protect our son,” he added.

 

“He told us about his placement,” Mark nodded. “And we understand the risks of his job. “

 

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Jo cupped Harry’s face, stepping back to hug Anne and Des.  “And both of you. Louis is so very fond of you all...”

 

“Not anymore,” Harry mused drily.

 

“How long has he been in surgery?” Mark asked.

 

“Four hours,” Anne replied when Harry paled again. “He’s in recovery now.”

 

“They said it went well,” Mark commented with a shaky sigh. “Said he was very lucky.”

 

Harry nodded; tucking his messy hair behind his ear with a heavy swallow.

 

“We’ve been waitin’ t'see he's okay,” he mumbled shyly, not sure how much Louis had told his parents.

 

“Mr and Mr Tomlinson?” A Doctor addressed them from the waiting room door.

 

The pair of them turned towards the male voice.

 

“Louis is stable but sedated,” the Doctor advised. “Would you like to see him?”

 

“Yes, please,” Mark let out a breath of relief.

 

Harry felt an overwhelming surge of emotion flood him; weakening his knees so that he shuffled his feet with the impact. _Fuck. Louis was okay. He was going to be okay._

 

He looked down as he felt a hand squeeze his; expecting his mother to be there comforting him until he got to visit Louis himself but Jo came into view through his tear-smudged gaze.

 

“Would you like to come with us, Harry?”

 

He smiled shakily, shaking his head and wiping his nose on his cardigan sleeve.

 

“He’s your son,” he managed on a ravaged whisper. “Ye should go first.”

 

Jo smiled tearily at him and tugged his hand.

 

“Come on, love,” she coaxed and Harry somehow got his limbs to work enough to carry his body through the hospital corridors.

 

//

 

Louis looked so tiny tucked up in the hospital bed, wires measuring his vitals and a tube feeding him oxygen through his nose.

 

Harry hovered at the back of the room in a corner while Jo and Mark had an emotional reunion with an unconscious Louis.

 

When they’d left- with reassuring hugs given to Harry- he curled up carefully on the bed, resting his head by Louis' hip and listening to the soft blip of his heart monitor.

 

//

 

Harry had arranged the peonies beside Louis' bed next to the growing collection of cards and flowers flourishing from his extended family.

 

Niall and Harry's parents had taken leave to go home; knowing it was only a matter of time until Louis woke up now that his sedative had been reduced and Harry spent his afternoons curled up in the space left on the bed, reading the papers or old books his Dad loaned him or just sleeping to the sound of Louis’ breathing.

 

One of those afternoons Harry woke slowly; a movement stirring him from his light sleep. He blinked sleepily, twisting to check for Louis' parents in the room, thinking one of them may have come to wake him to send him home but he found the room to be empty; yawning as he stretched a little on his back.

 

The flex of fingers in his hair had him stilling; heart thumping in his chest.

 

“Lou?” He whispered, deep and scratchy.

 

“Harold,” Louis whispered back, croakily. 

 

Harry jerked up; twisting to look. Louis' eyes were open; wide and blue and beautiful just like his tired smile.

 

“Hey, Princess,” Louis murmured, reaching for Harry's jumper to grasp hold of.

 

The front of his lilac knit stretched with the tug from Louis' hand.

 

“Your parents are here,” Harry told him. “I have t'get them,” he murmured.

 

“C'mere,” Louis pulled on his clothing to draw Harry closer and Harry awkwardly moved to cuddle him; careful of his wires.

 

Louis' fingers threaded back into his hair.

 

“Thank fuck you’re ok,” he rasped, pressing a kiss to Harry's temple.  “When I went down I thought—”

 

“Shh,” Harry quietened him with little kisses pressed into his jaw; against his cheeks and beside his lips. He was crying again; the salty wetness of his tears smudging against Louis' skin. “Ne'er mind me,” he complained on a closed up throat.

 

Louis stroked a hand down his hair; cupping his cheek as he pulled away, blue eyes focusing on him intently.

 

“You're _everything_ , Harry,” he promised.  “You’re worth taking a bullet for every day.”

 

Harry shook his head as hot tears spilled over his cheeks; falling onto the bedsheets and Louis’ skin where Harry wiped them up.

 

“Ye shouldnae have to. I cannae watch ye do tha' again, Lou,” he begged hoarsely.

 

Louis let his hand drop to his side as Harry shifted to get up off the bed.

 

“I’ll fetch ye parents,” he murmured.

 

//

 

 Harry sat in the waiting room while Jo and Mark visited with Louis. The visiting hours were over by the time they came out; relieved smiles on their faces as Harry stood up to greet them cautiously.

 

“He’s gone back to sleep, love,” Jo told him.

 

“Come for dinner with us?” Mark invited.  “Our hotel is right around the corner.” 

 

“Ye could see th'castle if ye wanted,” Harry offered.

 

“We'd prefer to stay close by for now,” Jo murmured.

 

“Aye, Loueh has tha' effect on ye, doesnea he?” Harry mused, eyes alight with his teasing.

 

Suddenly another blanket of weight had been lifted. There was proof that Louis would make a full recovery no matter how long it took.

 

“Come on, then,” Mark guided Harry out of the hospital with a hand between his shoulders.

 

//

 

“Ah really am so sorry,” Harry implored the people who had brought Louis into the world; his elation at his survival dimming to leave his irrepressible guilt.

 

Jo cupped his hand.

 

“Sweetie, you don’t need to apologise.  I’ve been trying to get Louis to change careers since he started training and the most I managed was the compromise of him working domestic safeguarding,” she mused.  “There’s nothing any of us could have done to stop him getting hurt. Wasn’t it your Uncle who had the gun?” She asked, rubbing his arm consolingly. “You must be reeling.”

 

“I've ne'er cared about tha' man and I’m not about start,” he lamented. “But I care about Loueh,” he vouched softly. “I care about Loueh very much.”

 

“He cares about you, too,” Jo assured. 

 

Harry stared at her, focusing on her pretty hazel eyes.

 

“The only problem is that I want'a keep him,” he smiled shyly. “We all do. Th'whole village love him.” He added quickly.

 

“Has he adopted a cat yet?” Mark asked as he sat back to sip his beer. “Every assignment he has, he usually ends up getting attached to someone's pet cat...”

 

“There’s a Great Dane he's fond of,” Harry offered with a  grin. “He's my best friend's dog an' he used to be called Jericho but Louis trained him and now he only answers to Jerry!”

 

The Tomlinsons laughed at that, muttering ‘typical Louis' as they smiled.

 

Harry fidgeted, biting his lip uncertainly as he held back the tide of emotion in his chest. It wanted to fall; with beautiful words; wanted to land in splashes across the table but Jo and Mark didn’t know yet just how much Louis meant to him and it was too soon to say it; to let those words out of the confines of his chest.

 

“He wants to recover here in Scotland,” Mark spoke gently to stir Harry from his thoughts.

 

“He can stay wi’ us,” Harry offered immediately. “I’ll make sure he doesnae over-do it.”

 

Mark smiled at him knowingly.

 

“We hoped you might say that.”

 

“Aye, he’s not goin' anywhere,” Harry promised in a deep, firm voice.

 

//

 

“Lou, what're ye doin’?” Harry rushed into the hospital room Louis was occupying; finding him out of bed and dressed; collecting up his Get Well cards from the bedside table.

 

He turned at hearing Harry's voice; his body still frail-looking with the dressing padding on his chest only visible over the neckline of his t-shirt.

 

He looked cute in his jeans and converse and Harry ached to hold him, still.

 

“I’m coming home,” Louis told him. “They’re releasing me.”

 

“Already?” Harry pouted, striding into the room to run his fingers through Louis‘ fringe, more to twist his hand to check the temperature of his forehead than anything else. “Ye sure tha's a good idea?”

 

Louis rolled his eyes, hands lifting to grasp Harry’s biceps.

 

“I’m fine,” he assured. “Just got to take it easy for a while,” he added with a resigned sigh.

 

“Ye goin'ta be waited on hand and foot,” Harry promised, smoothing his thumbs over Louis’ cheeks. “I’m not goin’ta let ye get hurt again,” he added.

 

Louis smiled and squeezed his arms.

 

“My parents are coming any minute, you know...”

 

“Aye, then they'll catch us makin' out,” Harry rumbled, leaning down to  slant his mouth over Louis’, sucking his lips sweetly in slow appreciation.

 

He shuffled his feet and wrapped him up tight; gentle enough not to disturb his bruises.  He let the desperate whine peel from his throat as their kiss deepened; Louis grasping his arms for balance.

 

“Short stuff,” Harry mumbled against his ear, nosing against his skin as his hand slipped down to delicately cup his behind.

 

Louis tiptoed to sneak another achingly sweet kiss; his chest hurting as he tried to catch his breath, forcing him to pull away.

 

“Ah'm sorry,” Harry brushed a thumb over his lower lip.

 

“Don’t be,”  Louis whispered.

 

“Knock knock!” a bright voice sounded at the door before Jo entered, Mark walking in behind her.

 

Harry smiled impishly as he slid his hand from Louis' butt to wave at them awkwardly; rubbing the back of his neck as warmth flooded his chest.

 

“Afternoon,” he greeted, earning a sly look from Jo and a muffled chuckle from Mark.

 

“Why are you pretending?” Jo asked openly as she moved to hug her son.

 

Harry lifted his brows, darting Louis a look.

 

“I wasnae sure what Lou had told ye,” he excused.

 

Louis looked Harry in the eye as his mother moved back from the hug.

 

“I told them the truth,” he promised.

 

Harry swallowed. _Which was? That we kissed before it was allowed? That I asked you to stay? That the thought of being without you hurts more than any heartbreak?_

“You’re welcome to stay at the castle,” Harry invited.

“We have to get back to the girls,” Jo explained, referring to the sisters Louis had back home.

 

They'd FaceTimed him when Harry had been laid on the bed one afternoon; obsessed with his accent and silly giggle.

 

“Aye well bring them too next time,” he added.  “The more the merrier.”

 

“Ready, Lou?” Jo asked as Louis picked up his small rucksack.

 

Harry quickly lifted it from his fingers and closed his hand around Louis'.

 

“Come on, Shorty,” he winked.

 

//

 

By the time they got back to the castle, Louis felt exhausted. His next pain medication wasn’t due for a few hours and just the simple act of getting in and out of the car had made his chest sore.

 

He rubbed a hand over his dressing absentmindedly and yawned; fingers combing through his fringe.

 

“We'll take you straight up,” Des suggested as the Tomlinson’s crowded into the hall, lifting his chin towards Liam to signal his assistance. “The guest room has been made up already.”

 

Louis glanced at Harry whose brows furrowed as his pretty green eyes focused on his father. His lower lip protruded a bit and he slid his teeth across the upper one as if biting back words.

 

“I'll take them,” he stepped forward to cut Liam off from the task.

 

Des nodded and gestured Liam towards himself instead.

 

“Help me with preparing some tea, then,” he mused.

 

Harry took the stairs slowly; bracing Louis’ back with his arm as he listened to Jo and Mark quietly discussing their plans to come back.

 

“Ye know we could come t'London,” he suggested. “As soon as Lou is feelin' right as rain again I can travel wi' him to make sure...”

 

Jo squeezed his arm as Louis wandered into the guest room and sat on the edge of the bed heavily. Mark moved to say his farewell while Harry looked into Jo's kind eyes.

 

“We'd love to have you. We don’t own a castle but you can share Louis‘ old room,” she offered. “You'd be the first boy he's brought home for years!” She laughed.

 

Harry flicked his gaze towards the bed where Louis had stood to hug his father goodbye. The sight sent a shooting pain through Harry’s chest. Louis was hurt because of _him._ Did his family hate Harry for it?

 

“He’s the first boy I’ve gone home _for_ ;" he murmured more to himself than Jo.

 

He quickly glanced at her to check if she had heard but she'd moved to swap places with her husband and she burst into tears when Louis hugged her.

 

Harry gave Mark a grave look.

 

“I willnae let him get hurt again.” He promised.

 

Mark reached forth to shake his hand.

 

“Good luck with the castle,” he extended having heard about Harry’s exciting plans on the drive home.

 

“Bring him home soon,” Jo told him as she snuck up to hug Harry as well. “Give him hugs,” she added pleadingly.

 

Harry huffed and smiled lopsidedly; his eyes softening.

 

“Aye he's a cuddle-monster is he, your Lou?”

 

Jo laughed and Louis rolled his eyes.

 

“I knew that tough man act was all for show...”

 

“Bit like your rugged mountain-man act,” Louis piped up from the bed.

 

Harry looked down at his outfit of soft, over-washed grey jeans and stretched out jumper and snorted.

 

“Aye. Shot tha' to pieces by pulling on a pink onesie,” he admitted.

 

Louis smiled tiredly from the bed.

 

“See you later,” he waved to his parents. “I’m going down for a nap...”

 

Harry shifted; wanting to see Louis comfortably to sleep but wary of what his parents might think. Luckily they crowded the door to go downstairs for tea while Harry moved to unlace Louis' plimsolls.

 

“I wanted ye to stay in _my_ bed,” Harry told him as he knelt to slip his shoes off. “But ye need to rest,” he acknowledged.

 

Louis twisted to splay on his back; rearranging himself when something felt weird in his initial position.

 

He yawned again lifting a hand to cover his mouth with the back of it.

 

“Sneak in later,” Louis mumbled. “Might need something soft to cuddle.”

 

Harry let out a clap of laughter and stood up; pulling the covers delicately over Louis body.

 

“Aye, ye might get a wee surprise there, Shorty,” he rumbled with a smirk; turning towards the door.

 

He turned when he reached it just to make sure Louis had fallen asleep without distress.

 

//

 

Louis woke to a heavy sensation against his chest.

 

It took him a while to open his eyes; not used to the scatter of his heartbeat where fear took root.

 

He had a reason to be afraid now. If he was hurt, if there were complications then it wasn’t just his family who would be affected. _Harry_ would be affected even though Louis hadn’t fathomed yet how that came to be. Harry cared about him and it was an exhilarating feeling but with it came a sense of responsibility. 

 

He let out a sigh of relief when a mound of thick curls came into view.

 

_Harry._

He was _there_. He'd come to bed just like Louis had asked him to; carefully wrapped around him with his cheek nestled between Louis pecs.

 

As Louis stirred; Harry’s arm tightened across his waist.

 

“Morning, Princess.” Louis rasped, reaching down to dig his fingers into Harry’s beautiful long hair.

 

“Mmm,” Harry’s voice was thick and deep as he hummed, curling tighter into Louis' side.

 

Louis felt his lips tug into a warm smile.

 

“Comfy?” He asked drily, fidgeting his legs which tangled with Harry’s slightly.

 

“Does it hurt?” Harry’s head shot up, lower lip protruding.  “Do ye need ye pills?”

 

Louis shook his head.

 

“It doesn’t hurt,” he guided Harry’s head back down against his chest.

 

“Jus' wanted t’listen t'ye heart,” his words came out mumbled and low but Louis heard them; felt them breathed against his t-shirt and combed his fingers through Harry’s hair soothingly.

 

Harry sighed and curled in a bit more.

 

“How does it sound?” Louis wondered.

 

“Strong,” Harry replied in a whisper; tilting his cheek harder against Louis' sternum.

 

Louis lifted his head to work out why; frowning when he heard sniffles.

 

“What’s wrong?” He asked, smoothing a hand over Harry’s muscular shoulders when he didn’t respond. “Princess?”

 

A low muttering of swear words tumbled from Harry’s lips but Louis didn’t catch them, startling when Harry popped up suddenly from his lain position.

 

“Ne'er mind, Shorty,” he sniffed with a watery smile.

 

Louis frowned a bit, reaching for him to cup his cheek and curl his hand gently around Harry's upper arm.

 

“Harold...”

 

Harry's face creased, lip caught up under his teeth as his breathing grew heavy.

 

“Dunnae go back?” He begged. “Stay wi’ us here, Lou. Stay wi' _me_ ,” he pleaded.

 

Louis opened his mouth to respond, breath pulled into his bruised lungs to power his speech but a sharp rap of knuckles on the bedroom door brought his gaze sharply to the hallway.

 

“Who is it?” He called.

 

“It’s Liam. You’ve got visitors if you’re feeling up to it, Tommo.”

 

Louis smirked at the nickname the butler seemed to have picked up from Niall and assumed the Irish man was the one who had dropped by.

 

“I’ll be down in a minute,”  Louis promised, brushing his thumb over Harry’s cheek as their eyes met again. “C'mon, Princess,” he murmured

 

Harry nodded and rolled off the bed with reluctance.

 

//

 

“Hey, buddy!” Louis patted his lap once Harry had helped him to the sofa; receiving a very large and excited dog into his lap.

 

Jerry began to lick him happily; something which made Louis chuckle at; smiling fondly at the giant animal as he settled across his legs.

 

“He’s taken my seat,” Harry complained quietly as he greeted Niall with a hug.

 

“Too much information, Hazza,” Niall moaned.

 

“I made a fruitcake yesterday,” Harry shared. “I’ll cut some up.”

 

“Looking good, Tommo,” Niall commended once Harry had left the room.

 

Louis nodded, pressing a palm to his dressing.

 

“Came out unscathed once again...”

 

“A cat with nine lives,” Niall commented. “How are ya feeling?”

 

Louis smiled.

 

“A bit sore, still,” he admitted. “I’m just glad it’s over. What’s happening with Stephen?” He wondered.

 

“He’s going down, Tommo, don’t you worry about that,” Niall assured.

 

Louis nodded, appeased that Harry’s safety was seemingly secured but wistful that his family dynamics were irrevocably changed because of one man’s greed.

 

“Seems like my job here is done,” he mused.

 

Niall snorted.

 

“Not likely, Tommo,” he argued. “You’ve got to marry that there Laird, yet.”

 

Louis shot him a wide-eyed look.

 

“Yeah don’t think I haven’t noticed,” Niall smirked. “I know,” he added smugly.

 

Louis busied his hands with stroking Jerry.

 

“I have to go back to London,” he broached, brows furrowing.

 

“Yeah, to hand in your notice and get your stuff,” Niall agreed.

 

Louis felt something surge in his chest that felt more painful than the two bullets he'd taken there.

 

“I’m not sure—I haven't decided,” he sighed, squeezing his eyes shut.

 

“Why not?” Niall asked simply.  “You’re one of us now, Lou. You can’t go back to doing everything alone. You’ve got people who care about you and want you around.” He posed, waiting for Louis' response. When he didn’t, he added quietly, “You’ve got _Hazza._ ”

 

Louis smiled tiredly, a thinning of his lips that barely concealed his inner turmoil.

 

“I’ve never lived with someone before,” he swallowed. “Never worked with someone I—well, you know,” he murmured. 

 

“So what you’re telling me, Tommo, is that you’re scared,” Niall posed. “And you’re running back to London to hide.”

 

“I-“ Louis opened his mouth to protest but Niall shook his head, standing up.

 

“You don’t think he’s scared too?” He gestured to the doorway to refer to Harry. “You know how scared he is, I frickin' told ya that,” he accused. “I told ya that because I thought you’d be man enough to stick around. Not go running off like some fucking eejit.”

 

“I haven't _decided_ ,” Louis bit the words out; chest throbbing with the pain of Niall's truthful words.

 

Niall snorted.

 

“The fuck you haven't. Do you even love him?” He wondered.

 

Louis lifted his chin, colour draining from his face as he met Niall's challenging gaze.

_Fuck._ He had been avoiding admitting it to himself; dodging the unknown feeling he hadn’t yet pinned down and he’d told Harry exactly how he felt about him except for those three words which he couldn’t avoid any longer.

 

“Fuck,” he whispered; pressing a hand to his chest.

 

“What's going on?” Harry's voice cut into the room. “Lou, are you okay? Do ye need an ambulance?”

 

Louis looked up to see Harry glare at Niall.

 

“What the fuck happened?”

 

Niall looked away from Harry and stared at Louis. 

 

“Come on, Jerry,” Niall motioned to his dog. “Seems like we came to the wrong house for a visit,” he muttered as he turned to leave.

 

Harry settled the tray of tea and cake on the coffee table and sat beside Louis; large fingers sliding gently over his knee.

 

“Lou? Are ye okay?”

 

Louis nodded, rubbing his chest.

 

“It’s not the bullet wound,” he promised. 

 

Harry glanced at the empty doorway.

 

“What did he say?”

 

Louis looked at the man with the soft, long hair and softer green eyes.

 

“Nothing bad,” he assured with a heavy swallow. 

 

“Did ye get in a fight about somethin'?”

 

Louis sighed.

 

“Aye,” he mused. “About me leaving.”

 

Louis stared at his thighs, waiting for Harry to bawl him out like he usually did when he disagreed with him. When he spoke it was so quiet that Louis felt his heart shatter; glass into shards.

 

“You’re leaving?”

 

“I have to go back to London,” he broached.  “But I hadn’t decided what I was doing after that.”

 

Louis glanced to his side to catch Harry’s Adam's apple bob.

 

“ _Hadn't_?” He whispered, shaky fingers clinging to Louis' knee.

 

Louis nodded, twisting to sink his fingers into the back of Harry’s hair. He was curled over as if shrouding his body from attack and Louis knew that was all his fault.

 

“I’m scared,” he breathed the words out; heart thumping in his chest. “What if me staying fucks this up?”

 

Harry’s nostrils flared, tongue slipping over his swollen lips; puffy from their lingering kisses before they'd descended the stairs.

 

“I cannae live wi'out ye,” Harry confessed, quiet and vulnerable.

 

Louis' heart which had broken into pieces gathered itself back together, slowly.

 

“Can I come t'London?” Harry whispered. “Please?”

 

Louis shook his head, laying his hand over Harry’s when his grip on his knee tightened fearfully.

 

“Fuck,” he cast; panting to catch enough air to speak. “I love you,” he managed shakily. “Harry...I love you, okay? I’m not staying in London.  I’m coming home to be with you.”

 

Harry jolted as though he'd been pinched, twisting to frown into Louis' face as though he was looking for signs of distrust.

 

Louis cupped his face and kissed him; over one of the furrows dented above his brow.

 

“I love you,” he said it again; just to be sure.

 

Harry caught up slowly; gathering Louis into a clumsy, squeezing hug; nosing into his neck for comfort.

 

“Dunnae fuckin' do that me, Shorty,” he accused, pulling back to kiss him with the same messy co-ordination that he hugged him with.

 

Louis gave himself up to the kiss.

 

“I love you too, short stuff,” Harry smiled softly as they parted. He pressed another tender kiss to his mouth. “Let's fuck this up together.”

 

Louis chuckled and slid his hands over Harry’s back as he drew him close once more.

 

//

 

“Ah-aye,” Harry’s voice caught on a low growl; throat bobbing and lips parting to gasp in air.

 

Louis smirked; having just twisted his fingers into him; waiting for the gentle tightening of Harry’s walls to give way with his breath as he relaxed into the feel of him. Louis parted his fingers slowly then; earning a higher pitched noise of weakness from Harry's throat and the subtle fluttering of his muscles in pleasure.

 

“Yeah?” He asked, reaching for his own stiff heat to ease the pressure. He was hard and flushed with blood; more than ready for Harry but Harry was too beautiful to watch.

 

Louis slipped his hand off his dick and wound his arm around Harry’s back as Harry leaned forward heavily to wrap his arms around Louis' neck.

 

“ _Fuck me_.” His voice was ravaged and Louis wasn't sure if it was a request or an exclamation.

 

He twisted his digits again; earning a rough cry.

 

“Still tight, Princess,” he murmured, scissoring his fingers gently; easing Harry open.

 

Harry burrowed into his neck; hot breath pooling damply on Louis' skin and Louis felt his heart pattern wildly; a reminder it was still beating. A reminder it kept pace with Harry’s; the scattered rhythm pulsing against his fingers that stroked him intimately, deep inside.

 

Harry lifted up on his knees; using his locked arms around Louis’ shoulders to anchor himself as he leaned backwards and fucked himself slightly on his hand.

 

“Hmm,” Harry’s moan was throaty; his smile blissful as his lashes fluttered against his flushed cheeks. “Aye, Lou...”

 

Louis watched his smile turn a notch dirty right before Harry kissed him with a searching tongue.

 

He had no choice but to dip his fingers deeper; earning a happy, pleasured hum from Harry’s lips and a roll of his hips into the touch.

 

“Were you always this sinful?” Louis checked as Harry chuckled, batting his lashes becomingly.

 

“I dunnae what ye mean,” he smirked.

 

Louis grasped Harry’s heat with his free hand.

 

“You're going to pay for that,” he promised, twisting a third finger into him sweetly whilst stroking his hardness.

 

Harry gasped and jolted in his lap; warm stickiness leaping between them unexpectedly as Harry peaked; a whiny noise breathed against Louis' ear.

 

“Wanted to do that with you inside me, Shorty,” he mumbled.

 

Louis began to fuck him slowly with his fingers.

 

“You will,” he promised darkly.

 

Harry grasped his face to kiss him again; a little slower this time; a little more clumsy but it was passionate and Louis had never felt more wanted than in that moment; Harry in his lap a little bit shaky as he tried to make sense of his orgasm.

 

It moved quickly from there. Harry sank down onto Louis' heat with deep, throaty sounds; his body clutching at Louis desperately in a way that Louis found  mind blowing.

 

“Baby,” he gasped as Harry wrapped his arms around his shoulders and slid over him; thighs flexing with the move.

 

“Say tha' again,” Harry begged against his lips; drawing another soft sucking noise from his swollen lips.

 

“Ba-baby?” Louis drew back to look at him; hair damp and fallen in rumpled curls across his face; tummy flexing as he worked himself on Louis' heat and lip bitten in devilish innocence.

 

Harry huffed; a smile lighting his features; dimples stretched into his cheeks as he threw his head back.

 

“Aye, tha’!” he called breathily, gripping a hand around himself.

 

Louis watched with avid eyes; thumbs pressed to his nipple and into his outer thigh to steady him in his lap.

 

He stared at him in stunned silence for three heavy jittered heartbeats until his brain caught up with Harry’s request.

 

“You like that?” Louis smiled slowly at the new revelation, shifting his hips to circle up into Harry’s down-grinding motion.

 

“Aye,” Harry murmured, breath catching.

 

“Is that what you like to be called, hmm, _baby_? Getting off on it, hmm?”

 

“Fuck, aye,” Harry agreed quickly, swallowing hard and biting his lip as his hand quickened over his revived erection, Louis clutching his ribs and thigh firmly as he rocked precariously towards his high.

 

“Never been called it before, _baby_?”

 

“Ne'er,” Harry moaned as Louis stroked him; fingers reaching for a tether and landing on his chest; his fingertips grasping at Louis' collarbones.

 

_Never._

Louis stared at him in wonder; the inevitable rush of pleasure covering his skin in prickly tingles; building to an overwhelmingly sweet sensation. His body gave way to the pressure; hips thrusting up as his arms tightened around Harry to hold him down while he released; heavy and hot right into his body.

 

Harry's surprised, gasped “Lou!” was the last thing he heard before the roaring in his ears took over. The next thing he registered was Harry quivering in his arms.

 

He blinked open wet lashes to check him over.

 

“Princess?” Louis rasped.

 

Harry cupped his face and kissed him; deeply.

 

“Love you,” he promised thickly.

 

Louis kissed his cheek; splaying his palm over Harry’s bare back. Harry shifted slightly in his lap.

 

“Did it hurt?” Louis asked as he carefully rolled to the side to lay Harry down.

 

Harry shook his head, green eyes wide open as his nostrils flared.

 

“Best I've had,” his words were teasing even if his expression didn’t match.

 

Louis cast out a relieved breath; running a hand down his thigh onto his knee and calf, circling his ankle as he dipped to press a kiss to the inside of his knee.

 

“I'd hate your elevens to feel left out,” he murmured as Harry watched him with a pensive look.

 

“Will ye marry me?” Harry asked, throat dry from kissing and crying out. His voice sounded too deep and a bit sticky but he grasped Louis' elbows in petty security in case he tried to move away before Harry felt ready to let him go.

 

Louis gave him a bemused huff.

 

“What?”

 

“Will ye marry me?” He repeated calmly; fingers still jittery where they gripped Louis skin.

 

Louis cuddled him closer and kissed his ravaged lips.

 

“You don’t have to propose marriage just because we did something you like in bed,” he smiled with a teasing kiss to Harry’s mouth again. “But yes, I'll marry you,” he murmured.

 

“Not becau' o'tha',” Harry rolled his eyes; referring to their love-making in his lazy diction. “Becau' I love ye, Lou.”

 

Louis smirked, cradling his cheek in his palm and sliding his thumb into the hollow.

 

“You’ve got to admit that asking me to marry you _right_ after we uh—possibly not the best timing,” he gently pushed back Harry’s hair from his face.

 

“Ye think I’m jus’ hyped up from my orgasm?” Harry grinned, rolling forward to push Louis back on the bed. “Ye think tha' just becau' you’re  best sex I’ve had tha' I’m jus' gonna ask ye willy nilly?”

 

Louis scoffed and rolled his eyes as Harry settled against him; Eskimo kissing him annoyingly.

 

“Let's not talk about willies,” Louis mused.

“Oh, aye?” Harry smile smugly. “Want to go again, Lou?”

 

Louis let Harry kiss him slowly and rolled them so that he was back on top; looking down into sweet green eyes and fingering thick wavy hair.

 

“Will _you_ marry _me_?” He asked softly.

 

Harry’s face lit up, arms squeezing the breath out of Louis' lungs.

 

“Aye, short-stuff,” he grinned. “I will.”

 


End file.
